My Soul to Keep
by JacksBoonie
Summary: AU: JD/Perry slash! America is at war with itself. JD and others have risen in defiance, offering assistance to both sides, to ALL Americans. But the government is searching for them. For him. How long can he stay below their radar without being caught?
1. Chapter One

AN: Howdy, Kats and Kittens! How're things, eh? Well, I haven't posted a new _Scrubs _fic in a while and decided to get this one up. The original version is actually with Perry and JD's positions reversed, and when I wrote this one as a challenge for sickscrubs over on LiveJournal, I knew I had to keep going and make this into a full-fledged fic. So here it is!

Some notes: It's an AU, obviously. I s'pose they all met the same way in the past, but the plot line sort of drifted when a civil war began. It's all very vague (sorry about that ... not good with describing government disputes and all that), but the real story lies with JD, Perry, and the rest, so I guess that's sort of an out, right?

Enjoy, Ladies and Gents! And have a fabulous day/afternoon/evening/night!

_My Soul to Keep_

Perry greedily gulps in lungful after lungful of cold, burning air, coughing violently between each breath.

"Tell us where he is!" An angry voice yells into his ear, and someone tugs mercilessly on his hair, pulling his head back at a sharp angle. Perry grits his teeth and grimaces, growling low in his throat in defiance.

He is thrust forward once again, his head shoved deeply into a basin of water and held there. He struggles, knowing it does nothing but waste energy he'll need for later. And when his lungs can't take it anymore, when the fight is slowly leaving him and a grogginess starts to pull him towards unconsciousness, only then does his captor pull him out and watch him cough and sputter all over again.

"Where is he?" The voice shouts again, causing him to wince. "Where is Dorian?"

"He . . . He . . ." Perry pants, his chest heaving painfully and his throat hoarse from all the coughing and choking on dirty water. "He's . . . dead." He doubles over as a coughing fit takes him. "He's dead. He's dead."

"He's not!" The man above him argues, forcing Perry up. "He's alive! We have eye-witness accounts of him all over the grid!"

"He's dead," Perry repeats. "He's _been_ dead. There was . . . an accident."

"Yes, this so-called 'mysterious explosion,'" the man sneers, sitting the doctor down roughly in a metal chair. Perry is grateful for the reprieve from the basin, but he knows that the onslaught is far from over. "We had our finest team examine the site, and they concluded the explosion was staged."

"There were bodies," Perry points out, shivering. The room is freezing, and he sits in only a thin t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, soaked from head to foot.

"Burned beyond recognition," the other counters, slamming a fist on the table in the center of the room. "There is still no proof that John Dorian is dead."

"Trust me," the doctor whispers, swallowing hard and lowering his head. "He died."

"He must have been planning this," the man says absently, standing and slowly pacing the room. "He trained you to say these things."

"Trained me?" Perry asks in confusion. "Nobody trained me, especially not _him_. He's just a-" A look of understanding dawns on the doctor's face, and his blue-tinted lips quirk into a smile. "You don't know anything about him." At the other man's pointed look, Perry lets loose a harsh bark of laughter, nearly falling out of the chair. "You probably don't even know what he looks like. God! And here we were worried to let him onto the surface! He could have walked right past you, and you wouldn't have given him a second glance!"

"Be quiet!" The other's face turns red with anger and embarrassment.

But Perry continues to laugh until his sides ache, unable to stop himself. "Do you . . . Do you even know how old he is?"

"That's enough! Guard!" A burly man in a military uniform enters the room and grabs Perry's arms roughly, hauling him to his feet. The doctor leans towards the other man with a sadistic grin.

"Do you even know if he's real or not?" He grinds out. "What makes you think he's anything more than a figment of someone's imagination?" He watches the other squirm with satisfaction and leans in even further to whisper. "What if you're chasing a ghost?" Perry receives a backhand across the cheek, but the look of doubt that takes the military man's face makes it all worth it.

"Take him to his cell," the man seethes, and Perry is roughly removed from the room.

"They'll be coming soon," the doctor taunts as the over-sized man leads him down the hallway, the soldier from the room following them closely. "They're probably already here."

"What makes you think they'll come for _you_?" The man walking behind them demands incredulously. Perry, suddenly, spins around, his face mere inches from the other man's as the burly guard holds him at bay.

"You don't have any idea who I am," he laughs breathlessly, his eyes searching the soldier's wildly.

The man clears his throat, straightening his jacket and giving the doctor an acidic look. "You're Doctor Percival Cox, former employee of Sacred Heart medical facility, and traitor to your country for harboring and aiding the enemy."

Perry leans in further, their noses almost touching as he takes a shallow breath and whispers, "You forgot something."

The soldier swallows nervously and cautiously leans in so that his ear is close to the other's mouth. The doctor airily breathes his secret to the soldier, causing the man's eyes to widen and his head to snap back. He searches Perry's face for doubt, for any sign that what the man has said is not true.

The doctor's face is dead-set.

Something over Perry's right shoulder catches his attention, and he glances down the corridor, his jaw going slack and a gasp escaping before a bullet finds his eye, and he limply crumples to the ground.

The burly man reaches for his gun, beginning to turn, but he barely shifts his weight before he, too, falls dead. Perry stands stock-still between the two bodies, their blood pooling around his bare feet. The harsh sound of boots against concrete pulls him from his stupor, and he turns to find two familiar faces. The figures stop beside him, guns trained on the dead soldiers.

"Doctor Cox?"

"Gandhi," Perry greets rather breathlessly, shivering as the cold returns. He nods to the other man. "Dan."

"Having a bit of trouble, Coxy?" Dan shifts the P-90 in his hands as he gives the man a funny grin and chomps down on the wad of pink bubble gum in his mouth. If anyone has adapted to their new life, it's Dan. He's always wanted to be in the military, but his friends and family warned him of the discipline and hard work. He supposes this is just as good. And at least he gets to carry around a big-ass gun.

The doctor grimaces absently as Turk searches the guard for the key to his handcuffs. He rubs at his wrists when he is finally released, staring down at the dead men.

"Hey," Dan snaps his fingers in front of Perry's face. "You with us, buddy?"

"Yea," he huffs, rubbing at his face and stringing his fingers through his wet curls. "Yea."

"Did you get what you came for?" The surgeon asks, looking down both ways of the corridor. He looks nervous. And he should be. It's not often that they have to go out into the field.

Perry nods, releasing a sound somewhere between a bark of laughter and a sob. "Yea," he says huskily, his red, puffy eyes shifting. "Doug's computer virus worked. They, uh . . . They don't know anything."

"Nothing?" Dan asks skeptically, his eyebrows knitting. The doctor shakes his head.

"They've got nothing. His information was removed from the system before they could get to it."

Turk and Dan share a look before the surgeon nods, saying, "All right. Let's get out of here. Can you make it all right?" As Perry nods, Dan pulls out an extra set of clothes from his pack and hands them to the older man. The doctor accepts them gratefully, pulling them on with some difficulty but quickly nonetheless.

"Let's go," Perry demands almost desperately, taking the hand gun that Turk offers him and following both men down the corridor.

0 o 0 o 0

Several hours later finds all three safely back at the base.

"Arrangements have been made?" Perry asks as they make their way through the crowded, underground space.

"We're shipping him out tonight to the new location," Turk confirms. "The equipment and everyone else leave early tomorrow morning." Perry nods.

"Dad!"

The doctor turns to see his son, Jack, running towards him, smiling from ear to ear. The young man has come a long way, and at age thirteen, he has already seen far more than Perry would ever have wanted him to. Jennifer, Sam, and Isabelle are right at his heels, squealing and waving in delight. Jack and Jennifer run into Perry's waiting arms, Sam to Dan's and Isabelle to Turk's.

"Hey, Sammy," Dan smiles widely. "How's Daddy doing?" The boy shrugs.

"Same as when you left," he says. "Is Perry okay?"

"Fine, kiddo," Perry replies, kissing the top of Sam's head and ruffling his hair. "How're things holding up?"

"They were fine until a couple of days ago," Jack says accusingly. "You were supposed to be back the day before yesterday."

"Yea," the doctor nods with a wince, giving his son a look of apology. "Things didn't . . . move as quickly as I'd hoped."

"Did they hurt you, Daddy?" Jennifer asks in a small voice.

"I'm okay, Sweetie." Perry smiles wanly, looking up as another familiar figure approaches.

"We'll see about that."

"Carla," he breathes in relief at the sight of her. "Am I ever glad to be back to you and your needles."

"Come on, Per," the nurse laughs, leading him back to a curtained-off area. As soon as they're out of sight of the others, Perry lets loose a pained grunt.

Carla sighs. "They were pretty rough, huh?"

"They always are." The doctor attempts a chuckle, grimacing as it jostles his sore ribs.

"You've got to stop doing this, Perry. One of these days, something's going to happen before we can get to you."

"I have to keep him safe. He's the only reason we're all still alive, why we're still fighting." The nurse says nothing, gathering the medical supplies she needs onto a tray and setting them beside the other on the make-shift hospital bed – it's more of a cot, really, but it's the best they can do, considering.

"How is he?" Perry asks quietly, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

"His vitals are stable," Carla replies softly, absently arranging the items on the tray. "He started breathing on his own yesterday. We took him off the respirator."

"That's good." The doctor smiles. "Do you mind if I . . ." He gestures outside the curtain, and the nurse sighs.

"Five minutes," she warns, "then I want you back in here for a checkup."

Perry nods and stands, determinedly making his way towards another curtained-off area, this one with a guard standing outside the entrance.

"James," he greets as he nears the soldier.

"Doctor Cox," James returns with a smile. "Good to see you back, Sir."

"Thank you. Any news on your family?"

"They arrived safe and sound in San Francisco last week. They'll be transported to the new base site in a couple of days," the guard says with much relief in his voice and on his face.

"That's good to hear," Perry grins, clapping the man on the shoulder. "I'm happy for you, James."

"Thank you, Sir."

Perry enters the small room just as he always does – hands shoved deeply into his pockets and breath held tight in his chest. He expels a gust of air and quirks one side of his mouth when he sees the absence of the ventilator tube.

It's the first time he's been able to see JD's face clearly since the accident.

Perry had not been lying about the explosion. There _had _been bodies, most of them planted, but some deaths had not been planned. And JD _had_ gotten caught in the blast and _had_ died in Perry's arms . . . only to be resuscitated with minor brain damage and no telling when he would awaken from his coma-like state.

Even _if_ JD wakes up, there is no way to know if he will still be the same JD who they all remember, who started this resistance, and who has paid far too much to go out like this.

"Carol," Perry says quietly as he sits beside the bed and takes the younger man's hand in his own. "I see Jennifer's been greasing your hair up again." He stares with amusement at JD's dark, styled locks. "I, uh . . . I just got back from another one, if you couldn't tell." He gives a nervous chuckle. "Think I'm still shivering. Not sure if it's because I'm cold or if it's just nerves." Perry plays with the other's fingers absently. "I actually thought . . . I didn't think I'd make it out of that one. They had me pretty scared for a while."

He tries to keep the tears at bay, but somehow they slip down his cheeks as he releases a pent-up sob. He swallows and clears his throat, trying to compose himself as quickly as possible.

"Um," he stammers, trying to find the right words. "They don't know anything. Not even what you look like. So when you wake up, you'll have nothing to worry about." He brings the fingers in his hand to his lips and closes his eyes. "You have to wake up, JD. I can't . . . You were so good at this." He laughs hysterically for a moment. "I don't know how or why, but you always knew what to do . . . And now that you . . . Now that you're not here, they're looking to me for answers." More tears fall from his eyes, but he does nothing to stop them. "I can't do this. I'm not as strong as you . . . There, I admitted it. You happy?"

Perry sniffs and stands, leaning over and kissing JD's forehead.

"Our secret is still safe," he whispers before wiping his face as best he can and heading towards the curtain entrance.

0 o 0 o 0

Far away in a dark room, several men stand around a computer consul watching a security tape recording of their enemies' latest escape from one of their facilities.

"There," one man points to the screen as the figure known as Doctor Percival Cox leans in towards one of their men, whispering something mere seconds before the soldier is shot and killed. "Zoom in on his mouth. I want to know what he's saying."

The tech sitting in front of the screen complies, tapping furiously at his keyboard until the image is zoomed and sharpened. The video plays.

"You forgot something," the Perry image whispers, and the soldier image leans forward. The rest of the conversation is inaudible, but the man standing over the computer screen is no stranger to lip reading, and as he realizes what has been said, his eyes widen.

He spins on his heels to the men murmuring behind him and yells, "_How did we miss this_?" Some of the soldiers shift uncomfortably. "I want all available resources on this. I want this man." His bony finger roughly raps on the computer monitor.

"Sir," a timid voice ventures from the small crowd, "all of our resources are being devoted to finding Dorian."

"I want _this_ man, Lieutenant," the other spits. "You get me Percival Cox, and _he_ will deliver Dorian to us."

"Sir?"

"_Now_!"

The men snap a sharp salute and scatter before their commanding officer becomes even angrier. He turns back to the screen.

"Rewind it."

The tech complies, playing the small video stream several times in a row. Perry's lips repeat the condemning information over and over again.

"_My name is Doctor Percival _Dorian_-Cox._"

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Hope you guys liked this one! I should have the second chapter up pretty soon. It's almost done, promise! Just a few details to fill in. Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side. :)


	2. Chapter Two

AN: Hey there, Kats and Kittens! How're things, eh? Lots going on this week. I have an Art test in about half an hour, two more later this week, plus my PPST this Saturday, which I will only have time to study for with a friend Thursday morning at breakfast ... Have I mentioned how much I'm screwing up my college life? I don't think I'll get out of here within the next fifty years... So I'll just get this up and running, yea? Thanks so much for all your reviews! You guys are amazing. :) Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own the television show _Scrubs. _I do not own the characters of the television show _Scrubs. _(Just 'cause I think I forgot to put one of these on the last chapter...)

_Chapter Two:_

JD comes to with a scream on his lips, sitting up in the cold, sterile curtained-off room. His eyes are wide and searching, his chest shuddering with uneven breaths on the brink of causing hyperventilation. Wincing, he looks down, finding a multitude of wires and tubes attached to his body and panicking when he realizes what they're for. He starts by disconnecting the feeding tube, scrunching his nose in disgust as he ties off the long, slender tube that leads into his stomach from his abdomen. Next, he starts on the heart-monitor patches riddling his upper torso. Pulling them off stings a bit, but he does it quick – like a bandaid. And last, the IV line. This one hurts most of all, but he reminds himself to pull the needle out slowly, gently.

When he is finally disconnected from everything, he tries to pull his thoughts together and calmly assess the situation. He recognizes the curtains – Lord knows he's been around them long enough to call them a part of his home – but the surrounding area looks different then he last remembers. It makes sense, however, seeing as the last thing he can recall is blowing up their former base of operations. Of course they would find a new place – several, as a matter of fact. There are simply too many people to keep in one place at one time. Their bases are scattered all over the country. JD has probably spent more time traveling between them and being a national icon then actually helping people.

Perry had tried explaining it to him once: how it was the _hope_, not the help, that inspired people to hold him in high regard. JD has never quite believed it himself. There are far braver people then he; people who have lost their lives to this pointless war. And what is spoken of them? A few kind words. What is done for them? The shedding of more tears mixed with blood. The mourning for the fallen is becoming so constant that it is hard to tell where the tears for one brave soul end and the others begin. JD does not feel worthy enough of the praise he is given. But he continues on, spreading this so-called hope across what used to be the United States because without it, there is just no use fighting anymore . . .

From the looks of things, he can only guess that he has been absent from the conscious world for several months. This kind of equipment is fairly rare nowadays and only used when a dire situation arises. How bad off had he been? The respirator beside his bed is an indication, but the fact that he had not been attached to it upon waking also suggests that his condition has been improving – as is also evident by the fact that he woke in the first place.

Running a hand through his hair, he gives a frustrated huff, his eyebrows knitting as he pulls back sticky fingers. He brings them to his nose, sniffing and making a face. _Hair gel? _Who the hell would put hair gel in his hair while he was in a . . . _Jenny Denny._ He laughs, using his favorite nickname for the youngest Sullivan-Dorian-Cox. Sighing, he returns to the task at hand.

He carefully swings his legs over the bed, feeling sluggish and heavy despite his thinner-than-he-remembers frame. As he slowly slides down onto the cold concrete, a shiver runs up his spine, and he has to hold on to the bed to keep from falling face-down onto the floor. Just as he suspected: his legs are severely lacking in any form of muscle mass. He'll just have to do this the hard way. But first, some actual clothes would be nice. Looking around, he finds a small dresser across the room.

"Of course," he mutters, wincing at the hoarseness of his voice. Closer to the bed sits a wheelchair, no doubt being wasted on the hope that he would awaken soon instead of being used for someone who might actually need it. He frowns at the thought, taking a deep breath before placing all his weight on his legs, crying out when they do not support him and he falls to the hard concrete below.

Glancing towards the curtain, he cannot help but wonder why no one has heard him – and at the same time he cannot help but be extremely grateful. Even as the doctor part of his mind screams at him to call for help, the smaller, more persistent voice in his head tells him that he doesn't even know where he is or who might be beyond the curtain. What if it's the enemy, trying to trick him into believing he is safe with his friends? What if the enemy just so happens to have the same particular brand of ugly hospital curtains? He highly doubts it . . . but refrains from calling out, nonetheless.

With quite a bit of pain – his meds are wearing off rather quickly – he reaches up and grasps the edge of the hospital bed, pulling himself up into a sitting position. With a deep, shuddering breath, he inches his way across the floor towards his goal, his legs at least strong enough to help propel him somewhat. His arms do most of the work, but even they are weak and heavy, and it takes him near five minutes to get to the infernal wheelchair. He glares at it determinedly as he sits up next to it, wondering how in the hell he is going to get into it now that he's exerted himself _getting_ to it.

The voice inside his head encourages him: _Come on, Nancy. It's just a chair, not Mount Everest._

A sudden renewal of strength courses through his veins as he recognizes the tone. He even manages a slight smirk as he pulls himself up and into it and breathes a sigh of relief.

"Piece of cake," he croaks, wishing the room had also been equipped with ice chips.

Wheeling himself over to the dresser, he pulls the top drawer open with a grunt, smiling as he finds several pairs of his favorite boxers, neatly folded and stacked in rows. He grabs one of the top pairs and slams the drawer closed, trying the second one. Scrubs tops; these, sadly, in a very limited array of colors. He snatches a blue one along with a long-sleeved black shirt with some sort of band logo on the front. At least he can wear what he wants _underneath_ his professional clothing. The bottom drawer holds scrubs bottoms, and he grabs a pair to match his shirt, piling the clothing in his lap and wheeling himself to the other side of the bed.

With quite a bit of difficulty and a string of curses that even Perry might be proud of, he manages to dress himself, tossing the hospital gown in a nearby corner. Now, to try on his new legs. He figures that attempting to cram weeks worth of physical therapy into mere minutes might be pushing it just a tad far, but he doesn't have time to lie around and do nothing. He has people to help, lives to save ... food to eat. God, is he starving.

With a smile that morphs into a wince, he stands on wobbling legs, grunting as he puts most of his weight onto the bed. Finally up, he carefully begins to shift the weight onto his legs, gaging how much he can stand. He is almost fully standing on both legs when they give out on him, and he quickly grasps onto the bed once again to keep from falling.

_I couldn't have been out very long if I can at least _stand _on them, _he thinks to himself, trying again. This time, his knees wobble but his legs stay relatively steady. He grins at his progress. _Now, if I can just take a step- _He grunts as he falls face-first to the ground.

"Fuck," he whines, rubbing his jaw and raising himself into a sitting position. _That's going to bruise_. He looks around desperately, his gaze fixing on a cane leaning up against a cart nearby. Again, his brows furrow as he wonders why it isn't being used by someone who needs it, but he shakes his head and reaches for it anyway, grasping it tightly and pulling it towards him.

With a great deal of effort, he is able to pull himself up again using the bed, experimentally leaning onto the cane. When he does not fall, he breathes a sigh of relief, taking a cautious step forward and then another. Several minutes later, he has made his way around the room twice, albeit slowly. He winces and starts for a third lap, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Two more laps later, he calls it quits, stopping by the curtain opening and hesitantly drawing it back to peek outside.

The place is deserted, save for a few tables and cots. His eyebrows raise as he scans the complex. It is considerably larger then the last place he remembers and much cleaner, thank goodness. In the past, they have lost so many people due to infection because of the places they have been forced to practice – hide – in. Hopefully, Perry and the others have been able to find cleaner facilities, such as this one, more often then not.

He is startled as three people, suddenly, appear – two soldiers and a nurse. The soldiers carry three or four cots between the both of them, the nurse gesturing the men to put them aside.

_Looks like they're just setting up, _JD thinks to himself, watching as they set the cots down against one wall, heading back towards the entrance immediately. _That explains why no one's heard me yet._

He vaguely wonders whether he should stay where he is or try to find someone. He doesn't think he can stay in this curtained-off room for much longer. It really is starting to make him nauseous . . . or maybe that's just the meds wearing off. With a deep breath, he hobbles out from behind the curtain, watching as the nurse on the other end of the room starts towards the entrance after the soldiers.

"Excuse me," he calls hoarsely, his voice disgustingly frog-like. The woman jumps slightly and turns, her eyes sweeping over the room before landing on JD's sickly form and widening.

"D-Doctor Dorian?" She squeaks, reminding the young man of Elliot.

"Yea," JD nods carefully, wary of the dizziness still fogging his mind. "Um, could you get someone for me?"

The nurse nods vigorously and raises her hand, palm up. "Just . . . Just stay here. I'll be right back."

"But-" JD has no time to finish as she scurries off. He pouts and mumbles, "I didn't even tell you who I need." A few minutes later, he finds out that telling the nurse wouldn't have been necessary at all. She already knew who exactly to get. Turk, Carla, Dan, and several children all rush in, halting as soon as they catch sight of the man-who-has-risen.

JD swallows hard, wracking his brain for the right words to say. "Um," he tries. "Hi?"

"Dad!" Sam screeches, running forward and trailed by Izzy, Jack, and Jenny. Turk, Carla, and Dan hurry towards him as well but at a slower pace. Turk looks absolutely shell-shocked. Dan's face is lit up by a huge grin. And Carla ... Carla looks worried.

"You guys! No, no, no! Don't-"

JD braces himself, placing most of his weight on the cane in his right hand, but as Sam slams into him, wrapping his arms as tightly as he can around his father's waist, the young doctor's legs give out, and he falls to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain that runs up his thighs and hugging his son to him. He closes his eyes, reveling in the feel of Sam's soft hair against his cheek. How long has it been since he's felt that?

Jack, Jenny, and Izzy tackle the two to the ground, forming a dog-pile on them both. Jenny and Izzy shriek in high-pitched tones, raining kisses on JD's face. Jack pats his shoulders and his arms, grinning Perry's smile at him all the while. The weight of them knocks the air right out of JD's lungs, but he can care less as he smiles right back at them all.

"All right, all right!" Carla's commanding voice echoes in the large expanse as she claps her hands to get their attention. "Everyone off Bambi this instant! Give him some room!" The children are removed one by one by Dan and Turk, and JD is helped to his feet by his older brother and instantly pulled into a hug.

"Hey, little brother," Dan laugh-sobs into his ear. "Good to see you up and around." He pulls away slightly, staring JD firmly in the eyes before kissing his forehead and ruffling his hair. As he pulls his hand back, he makes a face. "Jenny, what did I say about the product? _Sparingly_, Sweetie. You gotta tone it down a bit."

JD leans down and dramatically whispers so that everyone can hear, "Don't you listen to him, Jenny Denny. I think it's perfect!" Jenny smiles widely, and he chuckles, hanging onto Dan's shoulder for dear life until Turk approaches him, picking him up and bodily swinging him around.

"Vanilla Bear!" He shouts happily. JD has to hold on tightly, bunching the fabric of Turk's jacket to keep from slipping from his grip. When the surgeon sets him back down, his knees buckle slightly, and he nearly falls to the ground again, regretting having left his cane on the ground when the kids attacked him. Turk grabs his middle and hauls him back to his feet, keeping a firm hold on his this time. "Sorry, buddy." He shoots JD an apologetic look, but the young man only laughs and smiles.

"It's okay, C-Bear," he nods, turning as Carla approaches him and giving her a gentle hug. "Hey, Carla."

"Hey, Bambi," the nurse says with a watery smile. "When did you wake up? Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm okay. I only just woke up," JD chuckles, pulling away and placing his hands on her shoulders. "I'm a little thirsty, though. Any water in this joint?"

Carla nods as tears slowly slip down her face, handing the young man off to Dan before running towards another curtained-off part of the complex.

"You sure you're doing all right, Johnny?" The older Dorian asks, worry lacing his tone as he studies the young man carefully.

"Just tired," JD smirks, wrapping an arm around Sam as the boy latches onto him once again. "Hey, Sammy! You been a good boy?"

Sam nods vigorously, staring at his father thoughtfully. "Dad, how come you're tired when you slept for so long?"

"Depends," JD chuckles. "How long was I asleep?"

"Almost three months," Carla replies gently, returning with a glass of water and placing it in his hand. She makes sure he has a firm grip on the cup before letting go, having to catch it as it nearly slips between his fingers.

"Sorry," the young doctor grimaces sheepishly.

"That's all right, Bambi. Take is slow," Carla encourages with one of her comforting smiles, re-placing the glass in JD's hand and helping him guide it to his mouth. He takes a few good-sized gulps before the nurse pulls it away. "Easy, Bambi. It's just water. It's not going out of style or anything."

JD releases a satisfied breath, smiling with relief. "That's much better. Thank you." And then the Carla's earlier statement settles in. "Three months? I've been asleep for three months? How... What..." He glances around fleetingly. "Where's Perry?" The others exchange a wary glance. "Guys-" JD's words are more forceful, the leader that the country has come to know pushing forth and making himself known. "-where's Perry?"

"Last we heard, he was only half a day behind us with the other half of the supplies," Turk explains when neither Carla or Dan say anything.

"Last you heard?" The young doctor repeats, his eyebrows furrowing and his teeth grinding as the arm he has around his brother slides off the man's shoulders. Anger and worry cause a new-found strength to shoot through his legs, and he takes a step towards Turk. "What do you mean? When was the last time you heard from him?"

"JD, these things happen. I mean, he could have gotten delayed. He was with a lot of people. You know how it is, hauling all that stuff from one place to another," the surgeon tries to calm his friend.

"Turk, stop stalling and just answer the damn question!" JD nearly shouts. Jack, Izzy, Sam, and Jenny all gasp at his use of a _bad word_, but the young man could really care less about morals at the moment. "Where the hell is my husband?"

"It's only been three days since we last saw him, Bambi," Carla says gently, stepping between the two. JD can see that she is trying to hold back her own temper, most likely repressing it more for the children rather than him. "Three days ago, we took some supplies and as many people as we could and headed to the new site. We only just got here. There's no need to worry. He could be here at any moment, for all we know."

JD bites down on his tongue to keep from yelling at the woman, knowing that it can only end badly for him – three month coma or not, she would whip his ass hands-down. Instead, he merely nods, looking back towards Turk. "Sorry," he mumbles. The surgeon nods knowingly and offers a meek smile.

The energy that JD had channeled earlier wears off quickly, and he has to find Dan's shoulder again as his legs weaken and almost give out again.

"I gotcha," Dan says reassuringly, wrapping his arms around the other's waist. "I gotcha, little brother."

"I think you ought to go back to bed, Bambi. You still look terrible," Carla says sympathetically, stroking the side of his pale, sweaty face.

"I whole-heartedly agree," JD nods with an exhausted smile. "I think that and some food would be fantastic."

The nurse smiles warmly. "I'll see what I can find." She starts off again, taking JD's water with her as Dan steers him towards the curtained-off area again. The young doctor wants to groan at the thought of having to hide behind those horrible curtains again but says nothing, thinking it best if they are going to have to keep him on an IV for a while longer. Though the idea of sitting around and watching Gilmore Girls with Turk like the old days is certainly appealing.

"Turk, please tell me you brought-"

"All seven seasons, V-Bear," Turk replies with a satisfied smirk. "Have some faith, playa! I got your back!" And JD knows, without a doubt, that his friend most certainly does. Dan gets the young man situated in bed, the children piling in after him and positioning themselves comfortably around the doctor. By the time Carla arrives with a tray full of applesauce, pudding, and jell-o, JD and the young ones are already asleep.

0 o 0 o 0

Perry treks tiredly through the entrance of the new base, removing his soaked poncho and shaking the water from his hair while giving a rather nasty cough. He's sure he contracted something while being in the clutches of the soldiers he escaped only a few days ago. And with Carla's persistent mothering, he will never be able to ignore it until it goes away. With a sigh, he scans the large expanse. It is definitely more roomy than the last place. They don't have to quash hundreds of people onto cots with barely enough room to walk between them.

He spots Carla heading towards him with a huge smile on her face. "Carla," he nods in greeting. "How's the fort holding?"

"Just fine," she replies, hugging him tightly.

Perry raises his eyebrows in confusion and surprise, returning the gesture. "We got held back a bit by the storm. Damn thing followed us here." The nurse nods as she pulls away, and the doctor looks at her curiously. "Something you want to tell me?"

Before she can respond, Jack, Izzy, Sam, and Jenny bombard him, all speaking at once and tugging on his wet clothing.

"Whoa! Guys, whatever it is, can it wait? I'd really like to change first," Perry pleads.

"Not before a checkup," Carla intervenes, taking the man from the children's insistent hold. Perry groans and rolls his eyes, staring at JD's make-shift hospital room longingly as they pass by it.

"Can't I just-"

"Absolutely not," the nurse says firmly. "You're soaked! And you still have that cough. I want you looked at as soon as possible."

With a huff, he follows her back towards the examining tables, halting when she stops in front of a particular curtain and turns back towards him with a smile. "The doctor will see you now." She gestures with a hand for him to enter.

Perry's eyebrows furrow as he cocks his head at her. "The doc-"

His question is cut off abruptly as he is pushed past the curtain, coming face to face with JD.

AN: Questions? Comments? Vague disregard for any or all words written and established in the mind of one who has no sanity?

Hope you liked this one! I didn't get a chance to read through it one last time, so if there are any mistakes, please don't maul me! I'll get back to them, I swears! ... But do review! And tell me how I'm doing so far. The next chapter might not be up until next week (sorry!). I've got sooo many things going on right now, that I have absolutely no time to stop. Seriously. I shouldn't even be writing this. What the heck am I doing? I gotta go! Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side!


	3. Chapter Three

AN: MmKay...Just going to outright say it: I fail. At life. Epically. I cannot even begin to tell you all how sorry I am that this fic hasn't been updated in a year. It's ridiculous. I barely believe it myself. I should have updated this a long time ago. And if it weren't for a faithful reviewer who got my butt in gear this past week, I wouldn't even have remembered this fic existed. So thank you, and I really hope you enjoy this much-belated chapter. I promise to keep this story going! I know where I'm taking it, now.

Chapter Three:

A long, silent moment passes between the two men, JD watching the older expectantly and Perry standing in utter shock.

"Trying to catch flies, Per?" The younger asks softly, offering a weak smile.

He's spent the day looking at patients. Carla hasn't allowed anyone who has more than a cold or the flu to see him. Mostly it has been to indulge him. Sitting in a bed all day is not JD's idea of being useful¾and was actually really boring once he'd seen all the skit's the children made for him in his absence (twice) and he didn't have a certain someone to keep him company. Plus, with Perry gone they have been severely lacking on the medical home front, and JD will be damned if he's going to deprive people of medical services.

Nonetheless, the day is barely half-way through, and he is already exhausted.

Perry's jaw snaps shut, and he swallows hard, trying to remember how to form words. He takes a breath. Nothing comes out, and JD's smile widens.

"I'm going to assume the shock is from seeing me and not from your trip," he says gently, taking hold of the man's arm, leading him towards the examination table, and seating him on it. JD sets his cane aside, standing in front of Perry and taking out a pen light. "Carla told me you had an on-set of pneumonia from your last mission." His tone is conversational as he shines the light into each of the other man's eyes. "Have you been experiencing any tightness in your chest? Any light-headedness?"

Perry gathers enough energy to nod once, aware that he should be talking, listing symptoms to make JD's job easier. But his voice is stuck to the back of his throat, refusing any cooperation whatsoever.

JD returns the gesture with a nod of his own, grasping the stethoscope around his neck and swinging it around to his front. "Think you can slip out of those wet clothes?"

Perry nods again, removing his poncho, his soaked jacket, and his shirt, then switching out his dripping jeans for a dry pair of scrubs bottoms.

"All right." JD smiles warmly, breathing onto the chest-piece of his stethoscope before placing it against Perry's chest and listening intently. "Breathe in." The words are just above a whisper, and the older man complies as if in a trance. "Breathe out." JD's facial expression doesn't change, but his eyes cloud somewhat. He switches the stethoscope to the other side of Perry's chest. "Breathe in…Breathe out."

With a nod, he carefully limps his way around the table. Perry cranes his neck, his eyes following the younger man. "Relax, Perry." JD chuckles, placing a warm hand on the man's shoulder and repeating the procedure before replacing the stethoscope around his neck.

"There still seems to be some fluid in your lungs," he explains, making his way back around the table, "but it doesn't sound bad. You've been taking your antibiotics?" The older man nods dumbly, and JD sighs, placing his hands palms-down on either side of Perry's form. "You're really just going to sit there?"

The older doctor swallows. "Until I figure out whether this is a dream or not, yea, I'm just gonna sit here."

"Mm," JD hums with understanding. "I see your dilemma." He grabs his cane and slowly begins to turn towards the curtain opening. "This could take a while. I'll just go see some other patients, and when you've decided¾"

"Carol," Perry says sharply, taking hold of the young man's arm and halting him in his tracks, "don't you dare."

JD turns back with an overly-curious look. "You sure, Per? What if I _am _just a dream?"

Perry frowns and pulls the other towards him until they are nearly flush against each other. "JD¾"

"Or a phantom?" The young doctor continues playfully, cocking his head to one side. "Maybe I'm a figment of your imagination.

"Don't even joke about something like that." The Irishman warns.

"Perry," JD gasps with mock-revelation, "what if I'm a ghost? Or a zombie? Or _both_?"

"A zombie ghost?" Perry huffs in frustration with a shake of his head.

"Or," JD says pointedly, bringing a finger up as one of his eyebrows arches in thought, "a _ghost zombie_."

The older man's lips purse. "I knew there would be brain damage."

JD smiles, his arms wrapping around Perry's broad shoulders. "Does this mean you aren't dreaming?"

Perry surges forward, catching JD's mouth clumsily with his own and fisting the fabric of the young man's scrubs. The older doctor moans, his legs wrapping around JD's and squeezing their deprived forms together. Reluctantly breaking the kiss, he leans his forehead against the other's, shivering as JD's cool breath ghosts along his jawline.

"Definitely not dreaming," Perry pants, a silly grin spreading his lips apart.

"Good to know," JD sighs, planting a kiss on Perry's cheekbone, his ear, the back of his jaw, the side of his neck. He breathes in Perry's heady scent, reveling in the sensation of the man's taut muscles against his cheek and closing his eyes in content. "Miss me?" The words are almost a whisper, holding an exhaustion beyond anything that the older man has ever heard.

Perry carefully guides JD onto the examination table, stretching out beside him and watching his young lover fall asleep. "More than you'll ever know," he admits, wearily following after the other.

0 o 0 o 0

_//He regains consciousness face-down in a sea of rubble and flame. It's quiet. The fire licking around him doesn't make so much as a crackle. His body aches; his muscles are heavy. It's smoky, dark. He can barely breathe. _

_But he has to move¾he knows he does. He has to move because something has gone horribly wrong. Oh, God, what happened? They were running, he and the others; running because something was supposed to happen, something big. Running…and then nothing…and then silence, pain, heaviness. _

_He slides his hands across the ground, shards of metal and rock and glass slicing his skin. He pushes himself up, falling back against the ground once, twice. Something jagged splits his temple. Red flows into his left eye. He grits his teeth and tries again, managing to flip onto his side. _

_His head flops backward awkwardly, and he sees blurs rushing by. _

No, not blurs_. He raises his head, twists his neck to watch through one eye. _People_. _

_People running. People crying. People bleeding. _

_A ringing starts in his ears, and, soon, sounds begin to waft through the barrier. _

_Screaming. Shouting. Dying. _

_His unblocked eye sifts through the wreckage lazily, hazily. Fire rages around them, orange and looming and hot. People scramble for exits, some of them missing arms or legs, some with half their faces burned to a blackened crisp; all covered in dirt and soot and blood, all choking on the smoke billowing towards the exposed night sky, all afraid and panicking. _

_And then his gaze falls on the figure next to him, a figure half-buried and lying too still for his liking. He reaches out, smudges the soot caking the young man's cheek¾soot as dark as his hair¾and pushes on a dislocated arm until the figure lies on his back, his head lolling lifelessly and his wide, dead eyes staring right through him. _

"_JD?" he croaks, and he gasps as the memories flood his mind. _

_The bomb¾it had been his idea, his fault. JD is lying here because of him. The bomb went off too early. It didn't make sense. They had calculated enough time. There was supposed to have been enough time! There should have been enough time!_

"_JD!"//_

0 o 0 o 0

Perry wakes alone. He's shaking. He can still see JD's cold, blue eyes, can still feel his dead stare. Of course, the explosion hadn't happened that way. They had been further from the wreckage. Perry had found JD conscious and bleeding. And the young man had died and had been revived in his arms.

But this dream plagues him almost every night¾the dream that questions what could have happened, what might have happened, what still _can _happen.

"How long has she been missing?" JD's voice wafts into the curtained-off space, hushed and serious.

"A week." Carla. Her tone is strained, tired.

JD sighs. "They'll be expecting Perry to go after her."

"Why do they want Coxie?" Dan asks bluntly, a wet chomping following his words. Damn gum-chewer. _Pop_.

A short silence causes Perry's stomach to roll.

JD whispers, "They know."

The Irishman is standing and purposefully making his way across the floor before he can stop himself, swiping the curtains aside and startling the group standing just beyond the flimsy barrier.

"They _can't _know," he says, his voice wavering as the feeling of dread in his stomach tightens. "I didn't tell them anything. They _can't know_."

"They do." JD nods absently, turning from Carla and Dan and beginning to pace. The two step back, watching him with worry. The young man isn't prone to this type of behavior unless he's strategizing¾something that has helped him become the man that the country respects, that the country _needs_. "They want you." He offers Perry a brief glance. "Which means they want me." A peculiar look takes the young doctor's face, and Perry begins to shake his head.

"JD, don't even _think_¾"

"They won't be expecting me."

"And they don't have to. You're not going."

"They don't even know what I look like."

"All the more reason to keep you here. We can get Jordan ourselves."

JD shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowing as he frowns. "They'll have her somewhere we can't get to her."

"They had _me _somewhere like that," Perry argues, gesturing towards Dan. "These nimrods got me out just fine."

"They were expecting that," the young man states, matter-of-fact. "Just like they'll be expecting you…and not me."

Perry growls, but Dan steps between the two men before the older doctor can make a move toward the other. "Little brother." _Pop_. "Why don't you take a minute and think about this."

"I've already made my decision," JD says, his tone dripping with finality. He takes a step backward and turns, heading towards the main area.

"JD¾" Perry starts after him, but Dan grabs his arm. The doctor wrenches away from him, fixing a glare on the other Dorian.

"Coxie…" Dan's jaw is rigid. There are no popping noises.

"You're just going to let him do this?" Perry seethes, looking between Dan and Carla. "You're going to let him walk into their hands? The very hands we've spent _months _keeping him from?"

_Pop_. "You gonna stop him?"

Perry scowls. He doesn't have an answer.

0 o 0 o 0

JD counts his steps as he limps along the curtain-wall from one end of his quarters¾_their quarters_, he reminds himself, and he's somewhat disconcerted that he has to¾to the other.

One. Two.

Three. Four.

Turn.

One. Two.

Three. Four.

Turn.

Four stiff strides exactly¾not too long, not too short. The rubber nub on the bottom of his cane thuds dully against the concrete in time with his boots.

Thud. Clomp.

Thud. Clomp.

Turn.

One. Two.

Three. Four.

Turn.

Jordan is missing. And the people that have her will stop at nothing to get _him_. They know about Perry. They know about _them_.

They know. They know.

They know. They know.

Turn.

If Perry goes instead of JD, they can use the older man against him. They can get information by making JD watch while his husband is tortured. They'll get everything they need. They'll kill Perry. And then they'll kill JD publicly so that the country knows just how powerful they really are.

Dead. Dead.

Dead. Dead.

Turn.

JD knows that if they kill Perry, he will not put up a fight. The country will see his weakness, his surrender, and everything he and the others have fought for will be gone. The people he has protected will lose faith. The war will escalate. The deaths will multiply.

Lost. Lost.

Lost. Lost.

Turn.

JD's legs are weak. Sweat sprouts in beads on his face. His hands are shaking, and he loses his grip on the cane, falling to his knees with a muffled whimper.

I can't. I can't.

I can't. I can't.

Who made him a God-damn leader? Who stood up and pointed at him with a long, boney finger and said, "You have to"? Who the hell had the right to lay this burden on him?

Who? Who?

Who? Who?

One day he's minding his own business, helping patients, paying off medical school loans. One day he's just another face amongst the swarming masses. One day he has friends and family and a future and a _life_. And then the next day it's gone. All of it. Because he's the guy that has to stand up and say, "No." He's the guy that has to tell people to fight and have faith when he has none himself. He's the guy that the country turns to when all other heroes have failed.

Fallen. Fallen.

Fallen. Fallen.

One day he is JD, and the next he is a savior.

JD's lungs seize, and his breathing falters as he fists his scrubs top. He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth. Tears tremble on his eyelashes and glide down his sallow cheeks. He waits for the hurting to be over.

Perry calls these his "sorrow moments." He says that JD gives hope to people and takes their worries, their fears¾their _sorrow_. Those feelings build and build until, finally, JD has to release them in a burst of hurt and tears.

He falls forward, one hand smacking against the floor harshly to keep himself from plummeting. He hangs his head, the moans and whimpers sticking to the back of his throat with a practiced concentration. No one should hear this. No one should see this. Perry is the only person who has seen him at his weakest, who has held him as his penance rips through him in silence.

"Perry," he gasps. And then there are arms around him, soothing fingers wiping away tears and stringing through his hair. He leans into the warm, familiar body gratefully, his breaths expelling in staccatoed gusts.

"I'm here," Perry's deep voice murmurs into his ear. "I'm here, JD. You're fine. You're okay."

The words wash over him, and he lets himself sink deeper and deeper into their comfort.

In a few minutes, JD will wash the dried tears from his face. He will change into fresh clothes and pack what little he will need for his trip. He will make preparations in private and give his friends and followers false hope of his return.

In a few minutes, JD will be John Michael Dorian-Cox, martyr of a country who will forever remember his name, and he will set off to meet his fate.

But for now¾for one precious moment¾he is JD, doe-eyed-co-chief-resident extraordinaire from the days before the fighting and the hiding and the running.

And he is afraid.

0 o 0 o 0

"Sir!"

General James Hollock looks up as a flustered soldier stumbles into his office, frowning as a growl begins to form in the depths of his throat. He's been filling out forms for hours, organizing them alphabetically and filing them for future editing, re-alphabetizing, and re-filing. Papers lie in piles on his desk, two extra chairs that face his desk, the floor, and a long table that stands flush against the wall to his right.

These are just the A's.

The expression on the soldier's face stops him, however, and he nods uncertainly, consenting to the interruption.

"We have a situation," the soldier blurts, panting and swallowing hard.

"Well, out with it," Hollock demands after a moment of silence, a tremendous headache thundering in his skull.

The soldier's eyes widen, and he takes a few more breaths to compose himself. Hollock opens his mouth to tell the young man to stop wasting his time, but, finally, the soldier complies.

"Sir, John Dorian has just surrendered."

AN: Yea, I'm working on it. I promise. Seriously, though! No more crazy-late updates! I just found out that I only have three unfinished fics on my site, which gives me incentive to get them done. I can do it! Yea! Okay, enough of that. I'll see you all in the next chapter. Later, Gators! Catch you on the flip side.


	4. Chapter Four

AN: Hey, guys! Sorry this chapter is a little late. My Easter weekend was a busier than I thought it was going to be...But on the plus side, I saw Fast and Furious! And it was amazing. Seriously, I recommend it. Awesome! And they're already making a fifth one. *psyched* Which reminds me...I need to get to my Psych fic, Killing Queens and Dancing Bees. Okay, I'm on it, Kats and Kittens. Enjoy!

Chapter Four:

James Hollock frowns when a scrawny, pale young man is roughly ushered into his interrogation room.

"Sir." The soldiers snap a quick salute and exit as they are dismissed, the door shutting with a heavy _clang _behind them.

Hollock studies John Dorian—_the _John Dorian—and is distressed to find himself less and less impressed with the man that has led a rebellion against them, the man that has eluded them for so long.

Dorian is tall. His medical scrubs hang on him loosely. His hair is dark and disheveled; it contrasts starkly against his near-translucent skin and his cold, blue eyes. Blue eyes, like Hollock's. Blue eyes that weren't meant to see the things that they have seen. Blue eyes that convey anger and exhaustion.

Weary blue eyes that are sick and tired of this war.

"Have a seat, Mister Dorian," Hollock says gruffly, gesturing to the seat across the metal table from his own.

Dorian, hands bound uncomfortably behind his back, doesn't miss a beat. "Doctor," he corrects blatantly, his tone quiet but firm, "Dorian-Cox."

The general frowns. He hadn't believed the rumor that higher-ups had passed on to several bases. He thought it was a cover-up, a miscommunication. Now, the words that had been passed to him emerge from his memory: _My name is Doctor Percival _Dorian_-Cox._

John Dorian-Cox.

Suddenly, this surrender makes sense.

"Have a seat," Hollock repeats, his words hard and clipped. Dorian moves forward, and the general notes the young man's limp, saying nothing until the other has awkwardly seated himself. Hollock links his fingers, placing his hands on the table in front of him. "You're not what I expected." He watches the other carefully, awaiting a smug look or a smart remark.

But the young man merely nods, the corners of his lips drawing downward and accentuating the hollowness of his cheeks. "I'm not exactly what I expected either." His eyes never waver from Hollock's, their sharp color almost inhuman. "But sometimes people change when circumstances call for it."

The general ignores the statement. He doesn't like being preached to—and if this is the so-called _leader _of the rebel faction, a man of words, not action, then Hollock pities the enemy. How they have stayed out of their grasp for this long is a miracle.

The older man looks to a place on the table beneath his hands, a place where a folder should be. But the spot is empty, and Hollock is a little unnerved by this. His life as a commanding officer is files. Reading, writing, alphabetizing—three things he hates but three things that give him the comfort of knowledge, of understanding history and strategy and mechanics and people, especially the enemy. The young man sitting before him now is an enigma. There are no files on him, no traceable history, no social security number, not even a photograph. This man does not exist.

Yet here he sits: John Dorian-Cox.

"You shouldn't be here," Hollock murmurs absently, not meaning to let the words from his thoughts form on his tongue.

Dorian must misinterpret the meaning. "You have one of our operatives." He shifts, the chair beneath him squeaking unsteadily. "I'm offering a trade. Me for her."

The general looks up from his hands, his eyebrows furrowing tightly beneath his forehead. "And what makes you think we'll comply now that we have you in custody?" He huffs, sitting back in his chair with arrogance. "What makes you think you can trust us?"

The young man's lips twitch with what can only be amusement. Hollock finds this annoying. "I don't," Dorian admits bluntly, shrugging as best he can with his arms behind his back, "but I know who you are, General Hollock." The general stiffens as the young man leans forward, his next words hushed like he is revealing a secret. "There isn't much I _don't _know. And _you _know that Jordan Sullivan has nothing to do with any of this." All amusement fades from his face. "I'm worth more. So you _will _let her go."

Hollock grinds his teeth. He knows he should say something, deny something, _do _something. His superiors need to be informed. There is a leak; this man knows more than he should. Or does he? Is he bluffing? He knows Hollock's name, addressed him by the right title—he's only recently been promoted. He could have overheard a soldier say the name. But the soldiers know not to speak around prisoners unless with a commanding officer present. He needs more information.

"What do you know about me?" he demands. The young doctor sits back, a sigh escaping him as he stares back at Hollock tiredly.

0 o 0 o 0

JD can feel his body starting to shut down. He's exhausted. Any longer in this interrogation room and he's not going to be able to keep up his shield. And it would be a shame to break down in front of this man. It really would.

General James Hollock.

JD studies him for a moment. His hair is peppered and cut short against his scalp, the beginnings of a receding hairline apparent. He can't be older than fifty. But he looks much older and gruffer than the last time JD saw him.

Hollock obviously doesn't remember him, but JD never forgets a former patient—or, in this case, a former patient's father.

0 o 0 o 0

_//Jeremy Gale Hollock is eleven-years-old when his parents bring him to Sacred Heart. He's been having headaches and random nosebleeds for a couple of weeks. His mother finally decides that something is wrong, and his father is convinced to take him to the hospital. _

_Jeremy is nervous as he sits on a cold examination table, his feet dangling a good foot-and-a-half above the floor and his hands wringing in his lap. His fears are quelled, however, when he meets Doctor Dorian, who tells him he can just call him JD. _

_JD is funny and strange. He makes Jeremy laugh with his jokes and his weird mutterings. After a few tests and many boring questions, JD tells the Hollocks that he would like to schedule Jeremy for an MRI. Mrs. Hollock looks worried, but JD assures her that it's just procedure for the symptoms that Jeremy is presenting, though the boy can see something in JD's eyes that tells him differently. _

_A week later, Jeremy is transferred to the intensive care unit. The doctors don't know what's wrong with him. They've never seen anything like this sickness before. It gets worse. Jeremy coughs up blood. He's kept up all night by tremors and sweats. His body aches—always aches. He's scared._

_JD visits him everyday—even on his days off. He tells him funny stories and sneaks him the good pudding from the cafeteria. Sometimes he'll spend the night with Jeremy in the hospital room when his parents have to be away. _

_One night, Jeremy wakes up to find JD sitting in a chair by his bed, his head in his hands and his shoulders shaking. _

"_JD?"_

_The doctor sits up abruptly, the dim light from the lamp overhead reflecting off the tears on his cheeks. _

"_Jeremy." JD sniffs, wiping at his face and shifting in the chair. "You should be asleep."_

_Jeremy frowns. His head is swimming, his thoughts fuzzy. _

"_What's wrong?" _

"_Nothing," the doctor says too quickly. "Nothing...Jeremy, please—"_

"_I'm going to die." The boy's words are just above a whisper._

_JD's breath hitches in his throat, and he swallows, looking away as more tears start to fall. "Don't say that."_

"_It's true," Jeremy states. "I'm tired."_

"_You just need sleep."_

"_I need my parents."_

"_Jeremy, don't...Please, don't." JD shakes his head sadly, his eyes pleading. _

"_Get my mom and dad, JD," Jeremy commands quietly, firmly. JD studies the boy for a moment longer before standing and leaving the room. A few minutes later, Jeremy's parents are hovering over him, worried, tear-laced faces watching him anxiously._

_JD is there when he dies. One week later, the outbreak begins.//_

0 o 0 o 0

Jeremy Gale Hollock had carried the virus that had split a country. Blame flew from one region to another, splitting the United States into three outfits: people who blamed the northeast, people who _blamed_ the government, and the government. The government, obviously, tried to keep it contained—quarantine camps sprouted up everywhere. Millions died within the first month. Thousands the next. Only hundreds after that. The disease was slowly dwindling...either that or there just weren't enough people to kill anymore.

JD remembers the day that the military barged through Sacred Heart, forcing all doctors and nurses to their knees as they stormed through hospital rooms shooting patients who presented symptoms of the disease point-blank in the face. One patient fought back. A soldier's handgun slid across the floor, thunking against JD's knee. He'd looked at Perry; the red-headed man had shaken his head, but JD had already made his decision.

0 o 0 o 0

_//JD picks up the gun, dodging Perry's lunge, and stands. Shakily pointing it at the soldier wrestling with a patient in a nearby room, he takes a deep breath. _

"_Let him go!" He yells, hoping his tone isn't as desperate as he thinks it is._

_The soldier looks up and sneers, pushing the patient away from him and standing. "You gonna shoot me, kid?" He's older than JD by at least ten years._

"_Just...stay there. Don't move." The tremor in JD's hands worsens, and a sweat starts to break out on his forehead. _

"_JD," Perry hisses behind him. _

_The soldier lurches forward, grabbing hold of the gun. JD's finger squeezes the trigger. A loud shot echoes down the corridors, then silence. The older man slumps to the ground, wide-eyed and bleeding from his abdomen. _

_Perry is there in an instant, checking the man's vitals and applying pressure to the wound. "Jesus, JD! What the hell did you—"_

"_Leave him," JD interrupts quietly, his face rigid and pale. His scrubs are stained with spatters of blood. _

"_What?" Perry asks incredulously. _

_The younger doctor's eyes shift swiftly to the other man, his gaze cold. "I said, 'Leave him.' There will be more coming soon. We need to go." He turns from Perry's shocked face to the group still on their knees, stunned into silence. "Let's go." No one moves. "Hey! If you want to die, stay here. Otherwise, _move_." _

_The space is empty within moments. Only Perry and JD remain. _

"_You could have gotten yourself killed," the older doctor whispers, closing the soldiers distant eyes and standing. His jaw clenches as he studies his lover of two years. JD isn't looking at him, his eyes set on the hallway to their right. "What were you thinking?"_

"_There are more. All over. I'm surprised they're not here by now." _

_Perry grabs the young man's upper arms, twisting him around and growling into his face. "JD! Wake up! You just killed a man!"_

"_He was going to kill us," JD states bluntly. _

"_You don't know that."_

"_And you do?" The younger doctor tugs away from Perry's grasp, his head shaking slowly. "They're killing people, Per. They're killing innocent people...for being sick. That man"—he gestures towards the dead soldier—"would have killed us. We're doctors. We're not supposed to let this happen."_

"_We're not the police," Perry points out, his tone getting weaker by the second. _

"_They're killing them, too." JD's gaze returns down the hallway, where the sound of boots plodding against tile can be heard. "If we don't stop them here, they'll move on to other hospitals, to other innocent people." He turns to Perry with a determined set to his eyes. "We have to make this stop."_

_Perry looks at him for what seems like hours. Finally leaning down and grabbing the soldier's P-90, he straightens and gives JD a grim look, cocking the gun in an expert way that surprises the young man. "Let's go."//_

0 o 0 o 0

"Answer my question!" Hollock barks, bringing JD out of his memory stupor.

The young man takes a moment to recall the questions that the general had asked him to begin with, finally deciding to go with, "Take the deal, and I'll answer any questions you want."

Hollock scowls as he eyes the doctor with scrutiny, slowly nodding. "All right. I'll take you to her."

0 o 0 o 0

Jordan growls as a bright light intrudes on the darkness of her cell.

"Up!" a sharp voice comments, a soldier entering and grabbing her upper arm and half-carrying, half-dragging her to the door. She squints her eyes as they enter the corridor.

"What the hell?" she mutters, struggling against the tight hold.

"Jordan." The soft tone stops her, and she turns to find JD standing beside her, a sharp look on his face.

"DJ? What—"

"She's to be dropped at these coordinates," the young man interrupts, handing a piece of paper to the man standing beside him. Jordan knows this man. He's older, graying hair, annoying interrogation skills. He gives the writing a once-over before nodding curtly and passing the paper to another guard.

"She'll be transported safely, he assures the doctor before ushering him into the recently-vacated prison barrack.

"W-Wait," Jordan slurs drowsily as two officers lead her down one hallway. "What's going on?" She cranes her neck to look behind her. "DJ?...JD? What's happening?"

The slam of her former cell's door is the last thing she hears before being hauled around a corner and towards the surface.

AN: Well, that's it for now. Sorry it's shorter than the last chapter. I'll try to make up for it. Later, Gators! Catch you in the next chapter!


	5. Chapter Five

AN: Okay, so I have an extra, extra long chapter here to make up for all the days that I've missed. I truly apologize...but at least it hasn't been a year, yea? Dang, over 4,000 words. Hope you enjoy! It took me a while to get out...I also didn't get a last chance to look over this, so apologies if there are any mistakes. It's too freakin' late, and I am too freakin' tired.

_Chapter Five:_

"Jordan."

She wakes with a headache, a knot twisting in her stomach painfully. Something is wrong. Something is very, undeniably wrong. Is it Jack? Jenny? Sammy or Izzy? Has something happened to Perry? To DJ? To—

Her eyes snap open and she sits up, shouting, "_JD_!" Her eyes swivel wildly, and she finds faces swimming in front of her.

"Jordan, calm down," the face with curls of fire says, guiding her back onto something soft, something warm. She doesn't protest. It's been weeks since she's felt anything this nice.

"Jordan," the face says again, "we put you on morphine." She nods and smiles dreamily. She likes morphine. "Can you...remember what happened?"

"Happened?" Jordan repeats tiredly. Now she's too hot. She tries to push the warmth away. Someone holds her hands, her arms.

"Let me go." She panics. "Let me go!"

"Jordan, it's just me," the face soothes. "It's Perry."

"Perry?" she gasps, and she tries to concentrate on his wavering features. She's too tired. And too warm. "Why's it so warm?"

"It's not," Perry assures her. She feels a lock of sweaty hair being brushed away from her face. "You're sick, Jorderoo. You have a fever."

She closes her eyes, shakes her head. "Wh-Where's DJ? Where'd they take him?"

She hears Perry swallow hard and clear his throat. "He..." he hesitates. "He's with the kids, honey. Calm down. He's fine."

"You're lying," she grinds out, gasping as she thrashes. "It's too hot! It's too God-damn hot!" She opens her eyes. The faces swim sadly. "Where's DJ?" She feels wetness glide down her cheeks. "Where is he?"

0 o 0 o 0

Perry and Carla step out from behind the curtain that shields Jordan from the other waiting for their return.

"So?"

Perry glares at Turk. "'So' nothing. She's still sick. She can't tell us anything."

"Per, it's been three days since we found her," Carla points out solemnly. "If we don't get information from her soon..."

"I know," Perry snaps, pacing the floor.

Things are not looking well. Jordan is getting worse, and the symptoms are slowly progressing into something dangerously familiar. Not to mention the fact that Dan slipped away a couple of nights ago after having an argument about rescuing JD now that Jordan is back. He hadn't left a note, but everyone assumes he has gone off on his own one-man rescue mission.

"JD doesn't have a blueberry muffin's chance in Bobbo's grasp if we don't get him out of there soon."

"We should be making plans," Turk says softly, having been the only one to side with Dan the night of his disappearance and—to no one's knowledge—see him off with a "good luck" and a crack about starting his own army of rubber duckies.

"_What _plans, Gandhi?" Perry growls. "We sure as hell can't get him out of there."

"And we're not leaving him," Turk bites angrily. "We just got him back."

"Don't you think I know that?" the older doctor shouts. "I was there! I saw it happen! He was dead! And I thought...I thought..." Perry swallows, rubbing a hand roughly down his face. "And now he could be dead again, and I can't do this. I _won't_." Perry storms back towards Jordan's room, but he doesn't go very far before televisions stationed around the large expanse buzz to life, and a very angry-looking man takes the screen.

"Citizens of the remaining America," he begins, and the dozens of people standing around the bunker groan or roll their eyes.

This man is General Francis Leed, the military operative who single-handedly brought down the democracy when he, as Vice President, took over the country after the spreading disease had claimed the President. (Though rumors have been floating since the man's death—the President hadn't shown any symptoms, hadn't let on in the least that he was sick, and many people were under the impression that it had been _Leed_ who had taken care of the leader that had almost completely snuffed out the war. Of course, rumors are just rumors...) The "remaining America" that the general is talking about is the government and anyone who has sided with them. These people—these military initiatives—never address the resistance.

"Today," Leed continues, "we celebrate the end of the resistance."

Silence falls over the crowds watching the small, black-and-white televisions littering the bunker.

0 o 0 o 0

_3 Days Earlier_

JD is shoved into the small prison barrack, hearing the last of Jordan's protests before the door slams shut with a foreboding _clang_. He can't help the sharp intake of air, the brief thoughts about what he has ultimately just done, not only to himself but to his family, his friends.

He glances around and winces. The place is filthy. Mold on the walls, a small, blinking lightbulb hanging from the low ceiling, bugs crawling _everywhere_. If Jordan survives with little less than the plague, it will be a miracle.

Hollock watches him survey the small space. There is barely enough room for the small, rusted toilet that doesn't flush and the mattress that sits so low against the muddy ground that it serves about as much purpose as a rag on solid rock.

"Apologies if it's not up to your normal standards," Hollock mocks without any real vehemence. "But I don't suppose you're used to anything better."

JD doesn't say anything, merely hunkers down on the dirty mattress and releases a sigh of exhaustion as he leans back against the cold, wet wall. This is what he gets for being a savior, a martyr—a hole in the pit of hell with no one to keep him company but the devil's advocate.

"I think you have something to tell me," the general says, leaning against the wall opposite the young man. He obviously has no problem being in this place. Maybe he's spent too much time down here.

"How do I know she's safe?" JD says, closing his eyes and letting himself get lost in the sounds. Water dripping, lightbulb flickering, bugs flying and crawling and gnawing...Okay, maybe that last one is just JD's imagination. But he swears he hears something chewing.

"I gave you my word, Dorian."

"Dorian-_Cox_."

"You just have to accept it." Hollock crosses his arms. "Now, tell me what you know."

JD's eyes open, and his head lolls in the other man's direction, his dark, dull eyes centered on Hollock as he purses his lips. "Do your superiors know it was your son who started the war?" he asks, his voice wavering as his hands begin to shake.

James Hollock stiffens, his eyes growing wide. "What did you say?" he whispers past dry lips.

0 o 0 o 0

_3 Days Later_

"Today, we celebrate the end of the resistance."

The camera pans to a young man sitting in a metal chair between two soldiers, a black hood over his head. He doesn't look well. He fights for breath, and his wheezing makes the hood over his head flutter with every fighting breath. The physique is frighteningly familiar, though the hood makes it impossible to tell whether it's...

"No," Perry says with a shake of his head. "That's not him. They're bluffing."

Carla looks to Turk. "Baby?"

Turk's jaw is set rigidly, his head slowly shaking from side to side. "I don't know. It looks...It looks like—"

"It's not," Perry counters.

"Then it's sure one hell of a look-a-like," the surgeon mutters, wincing as the screen roughly jerks back to Leed.

"The end of the war is near," he says. "We have captured the resistance leader, John Dorian."

"Dorian-_Cox_, mother fucker," Perry mumbles through clenched teeth.

"His execution will be public, so that the people of America—as well as the resistance—will know what fate falls on traitors of the country."

"What country?" Perry scoffs.

"Execution?" Carla gasps quietly, her hand going over to her mouth as the camera pans back to the young man and a soldier holding a gun to the left side of his head.

"General Hollock," Leed says from off-screen.

"Christ," Perry whispers, a look of fear finally taking his face as he steps closer to the television. "They're not going to do it right—"

"You may proceed."

"They wouldn't—" the Irishman starts but is immediately cut off by the gunshot that crackles from the stereo, watching with horror as the young man's head jerks violently to the side, falling limp after a spray of crimson and wet, jiggling chunks.

Carla turns her head into Turk's shoulder as several cries echo throughout the bunker.

"The kids," Turk utters, and Carla and Perry's heads snap to him. "The kids...Where...Did they see..." He says no more, standing stunned as Carla and Perry rush towards the larger part of the underground complex.

"Jack? Jenny?" the doctor calls at the same time that the nurse yells for Isabel and Sam. There is screaming amidst a nearby crowd of crying people, and they both head in that direction.

Perry arrives first, finding a stoic Jack holding a hysteric Sam against his chest. Sam is fighting against the young teen, trying to get away. He's screaming, sobbing, beating against Jack's chest.

"No! No! Let go! Jack, let go! Dad! Daddy! What happened to my dad?"

Perry has him in an instant, scooping him up and cradling him close, whispering in his ear. "Sammy. Shh, it's okay. I gotcha."

Sam wraps his arms around the man's neck, burying his tear-stained face in the crook of Perry's neck. Perry swallows hard, eyeing the surrounding sympathizers with annoyance.

"Jack, get Jenny and meet me in your mother's room."

Jack nods absently, turning and scanning the crowd as Perry marches off towards Jordan's make-shift hospital room.

0 o 0 o 0

_3 Days Earlier_

"Jeremy," JD states softly, reverently, as if the young boy had been his own son. "Jeremy Gale Hollock."

"Don't," the general chokes, his anger building as he steps away from the wall and towards the young doctor. "Don't you dare say that name again."

"Sweet kid," the younger man sighs, lost in his own thoughts. "Smart. Funny. Like his mom."

JD doesn't anticipate the blow to his face to be so soon, but he does expect it. He barely lets loose a groan, his head jerking violently from the right-hook.

And then Hollock is in his face. "Don't you say one more word, Dorian. Don't you dare."

The young doctor spits a wad of blood onto the mattress, straightening and taking a slow breath. "Dorian-_Cox_," he corrects quietly. Hollock delivers another blow before standing and leaving the cell.

0 o 0 o 0

_3 Days Later_

Perry stares desperately at the small group of people that have congregated in Jordan's curtained-off room, namely Carla and Turk, as well as the kids. Sammy still sniffles at his shoulder, but exhaustion is slowly overtaking him, and for that the older man is thankful.

"Alright," he says in a gruff voice, "I know what you just saw is..." He falters. He doesn't want to think about what they just saw. It could have been JD. It wasn't JD, of course...but it looked so much like him...Perry shakes his head of the thoughts, gritting his teeth. "We're going to be okay. JD is fine. We just have to focus on what's happening _right now_ until he gets back."

"Doctor Cox," Turk protests, but Perry shakes his head.

"Not now, Gandhi." He surveys the children, their eyes wet and their small forms shaking. He leans down, Sam still in his arms. "Listen," he says quietly, looking to each of them in turn, "Jordan is sick. And Sammy is very sad right now. Jenny, Izzy, your job is to help Sam, okay?" The girls nod. "And Jacky, your job is to keep an eye on your mother while I work on making her better." Jack nods, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

Perry stands, stepping towards the married couple and gently handing Sam to Turk. "Carla, I need you in the other room."

Carla nods and follows him quietly. When they are out of ear-shot, she says, "It's here again, isn't it?"

Perry sighs, his hands finding the back of his head as he swivels around to face her. "Yea."

The nurse nods. "Okay. Should I get an IV ready?"

Months ago, as the outbreak of the disease was winding down, JD and Perry had found something. They had wondered why only some people seemed to get sick, why so many were dropping like flies while they, the lucky ones, remained unscathed. A blood pathologist from a hospital on the east coast found them, having explored the same concept.

There was a strain, a very small one but one nonetheless, that acted as a vaccine. Anyone who carried it was immune to the sickness that had quickly wiped out millions, and anyone who received a blood transfusion from these people were ultimately cured. Anyone who'd had a blood transfusion within the last decade could also be a carrier, though the strain would not be strong enough to pass on.

To cure this disease, the blood has to be from the source of the strain.

"We can't," Perry says, and at Carla's questioning look, he continues, "Jordan is a carrier. Whatever this is...it's got ahold of our only defense."

0 o 0 o 0

_2 Days Earlier_

Hollock holds his breath as the line on the other end of the phone he holds close to his ear pulses twice before someone answers.

"Hello?"

He swallows, closing his eyes. "M-Meredith," he stutters, biting the inside of his cheek as the line goes quiet.

"James?" the woman asks softly, coldly.

"I need to ask you something," the general breathes, his words rushed and desperate.

Meredith sighs. "James, I thought I told you not to—"

"It's about Jeremy."

Another silence before she says, "What about Jeremy?"

Hollock takes a deep breath. "Do you remember...in the hospital...What was the name of his doctor?"

"Oh," Meredith says just above a whisper, as if she had been expecting something else. "It was...Dorian." The general stiffens. "John Dorian. Jeremy called him 'JD.'" When Hollock says nothing, she gently calls his name. "James?"

"I'm sorry," he says in a gruff voice, clearing his throat. "For calling, I mean...It's good to hear your voice, Mer."

"James," Meredith sighs, a pained sound. "Please...don't call again."

"I won't," the general promises. "Goodbye." He hangs up before she can respond, sitting in his chair for a long while before there is a knock at the door."

"Enter," he says without thinking, and a broad-shouldered, young soldier opens the door, stepping through and immediately stiffening.

"Sir," he says curtly, "the prisoner has been moved to interrogation three, as you requested."

Hollock nods, a contemplative frown forming on his lips as the soldier does an about-face and leaves. He and Dorian have much to discuss.

0 o 0 o 0

_2 Days Later_

"It's a different strain of the the virus," the man leaning over a microscope says.

Perry resists the urge to roll his eyes. "No shit."

The man, a blood pathologist named Phil, straightens and gives the other doctor a pointed look. "But it's not that different. We can alter what we have."

Perry nods. "Okay. Get it done."

He leaves before the pathologist can say anything more, weaving his way to Jordan's room. He enters to find Jack sitting diligently by his mother's bed, Sam sitting in one corner and smiling half-heartedly at the board game that Izzy and Jenny are trying to involve him in, and Carla overseeing everything from her perch beside the monitors.

She glances up as Perry enters, giving him a questioning look. Perry sighs and smiles tightly. "She's going to be fine." His voice makes everyone look up. "The doc says he can help her."

0 o 0 o 0

_2 Days Earlier_

JD does not look well. Aside from the bruises splashed across his left cheekbone, the young doctor also looks a little ruffled. Hollock thinks that he should have the prison guards changed out for...less homophobic soldiers.

"You were my son's doctor," the general says as soon as he takes a seat. He sees no need for cutting corners now. JD takes a moment to focus on the man. If the way his head is bleeding is any indication, Hollock guesses that the young man has a concussion.

As the words settle, JD takes a deep, wheezing breath, wincing before saying, "Yes." His voice is small, airy. Broken ribs.

_Damn it_, Hollock seethes to himself, seriously considering finding the man a medic.

JD takes another agonizing breath. The general catches sight of dried blood on the doctor's teeth. "I-I'm surprised...I haven't met General Leed yet. Isn't he...jumping at a chance to meet me?"

Hollock winces, both at the statement and the breaths that JD must take to get the statement out. "He's on his way from Washington. You'll meet him soon enough."

He stares long and hard at the young man, trying to recognize him, trying to pull up a single memory of him. He can't. He'd been too focused on his son...But he remembers how happy Jeremy had been despite everything, how well he had coped because "JD" had helped him through it. All of it.

"You were there when Jeremy died." It's meant to be a question, but it comes out more of a fact then anything. Somehow the general knows the answer before JD nods.

"He was a...brave kid," the doctor rasps, his voice full of liquid. Hollock frowns and opens his mouth to question the young man about his condition. Nothing comes out.

JD reads the look, though, and answers the unspoken thought. "Ribs...punctured a lung...Close to collapsing."

Hollock nods, his lips drawing into a grim line. "What do you know about General Leed?" He isn't comfortable with interrogating the young man further, but if he doesn't, someone else will. And that won't end well.

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and Hollock turns to unleash hell on whoever has interrupted, but the growl at the back of his throat is swallowed as General Leed walks into the interrogation room. Hollock stands to attention.

"Sir."

Leed barely offers Hollock a glance before turning to JD and sneering. "Hollock, you're dismissed."

Hollock does not like the look on the other man's face, or the faces of the men standing behind him. "Sir? I was told I would be in charge of—"

"Dismissed!" Leed snarls, glaring at him.

Hollock winces. "Sir, I really think he needs a—"

"Hollock, if I have to repeat myself one more time, I'll make you Dorian's neighbor in the prison barracks," the other man threatens, stepping aside and gesturing towards the door. Hollock offers JD a worried look before nodding and leaving the room. The young doctor doesn't even spare him a last glance.

0 o 0 o 0

_2 Days Later_

Perry can feel the burn behind his eyes, the tears that have been kept at bay for too long. Jordan is getting better. Sammy is starting to settle into his normal ways again. And after much preaching and arguing, everyone else seems convinced that JD is still alive...But the feeling is still there—that nagging worm of doubt wriggling at the back of his mind.

JD could be dead. That man, the one that had been shot, it could have been JD. Perry keeps replaying the video of the execution in his mind, and each time the man looks more and more like JD. The way he sits with his left leg sticking out just a bit farther than his right, the way his shoulders settle unevenly when he's tense, the way his adam's apple bobs when he swallows too hard or too fast. The video itself had not been all that clear, but in Perry's head, the picture has clarity to perfection.

JD is dead. Perry will never see him again.

He can't stop the tears that spill onto Jordan's sheets as he buries his head by her side, especially when he feels her soft fingers string through his tangled hair.

0 o 0 o 0

_1 Day Earlier_

The lightbulb in JD's cell is out, and Hollock squints to make out the young man's form, though he hardly has to squint to find him. JD's wheezing is so pronounced that all the older man has to do is follow the noise.

"Dorian?" he asks, leaning down by the mattress and reaching a hand out. He finds JD's shoulder and turns the young doctor onto his back.

JD lets loose a pained sound before taking a shallow, shuddering breath full of liquid. "Dorian...Cox," he whispers.

"Right," Hollock sighs, hunkering down on the mattress beside him. "What happened?"

"Nothing that...didn't happen...in junior high," JD says. He gives a wheezing gurgle that the older man assumes is a laugh, but it ends in coughing and hacking that makes the general cringe.

"You need a doctor," Hollock murmurs, again knowing the answer before it braves its way past JD's lips.

"I am...a doctor." JD shifts on the mattress, gasping with the effort. "General, you don't...have to worry...I didn't tell them...about Jeremy."

Hollock shakes his head, though the gesture is lost to the darkness. "I wasn't worried about that." He swallows hard. "They're going to execute you. Tomorrow." JD is quiet. "It will be on national television, so that everyone will know..."

"What it means...to be part...of the resistance," the young man finishes. "They'll make me...a martyr."

"They'll make you an example," the general corrects. "They'll kill you and then see how long it takes for the resistance to crack without you."

"The resistance...doesn't need me."

"How can you say that?" Hollock demands incredulously. "I've ordered the deaths of..._dozens_ of people who, with their last breath, utter _your_ name. You can't seriously believe you have nothing to do with the war?"

"The resistance...will go on," JD wheezes in no more than a whisper. "They're strong...And Leed is...kidding himself...if he thinks...otherwise." He takes a long, painful breath. "My death will start a new war."

The older man frowns. "You want a another war?" he asks softly.

"Of course not," the doctor spits bitterly, coughing and groaning when the action jostles his ribs, "but it's...inevitable. Fighting...is all that...we're good for...anymore."

Hollock knows this kind of talk. He's spoken it practically his whole life. And until he'd heard about the resistance, about the one known as John Dorian, he'd lived by it—every single word. Faith was not something one could easily afford during a war. When Dorian had been captured, Hollock had hoped to see some of that faith restored, to see what kept the resistance fighting so passionately. And from the very moment that this young, gangly doctor set foot in his interrogation room, he's had his opinion of him.

John Dorian is a disappointment.

"How long have you been like this?" Hollock asks without meaning to. But the question hangs there, begging for elaboration. "How long have you been this person who just doesn't care? Who's willing to give up so that the fighting can continue?" JD doesn't answer, his breathing beginning to get shallower and weaker. "How long has it been since you've been..._JD_, not _John Dorian_?"

JD stops breathing, and the general almost panics, but the young man takes a breath. "Too long," he whispers.

"I see," Hollock replies, standing and slowly making his way towards the door. "Well, I certainly hope you can find that young man that helped my son before the end." He knocks, and the door opens. "He's all yours," he says to whoever stands outside.

JD hears boots against hard concrete, and then a soft, familiar voice. "JD?"

0 o 0 o 0

_1 Day Later_

"Perry?"

The Irishman is shaken awake by an urgent pair of hands. He groggily looks up from his place at Jordan's bedside, finding Carla looking down at him anxiously.

"Wha—"

"Perry, you need to come with me," the nurse says quickly, and the grogginess leaves the man immediately.

"What's going on?" he asks, standing too quickly and feeling a rush of dizziness as he tries to take a step.

Carla steadies him, tugging on his arm and pulling him from the room. "Just...come on."

Perry follows reluctantly, passing concerned and confused faces as the young woman pulls him through the bunker. They finally stop towards the entrance, a group of people crowded around it. Carla weaves her way between people, Perry in tow, and he sees over the many heads blocking their way what their destination is.

"Barbie?" he asks as soon as they've broken through the crowd, and Elliot turns towards him.

"Doctor Cox!" she screeches, rushing forward and taking his hands in hers. He grunts in half-hearted amusement. She still calls him _Doctor Cox. _If she'd just grow some courage, he'd let her call him "Perry." She's smiling, wide and...fearful.

"What are you doing here?" Perry asks curiously. She and others are supposed to be on the other side of the country, helping where JD can't...will never be able to.

The realization hurts, and the older doctor almost doesn't have the strength to keep more tears at bay. But Barbie's face warps into something that might be determination...with a hint of constipation.

"Doctor Cox, we have someone you might like to see."

AN: Wow! It's actually almost over! I think...If all goes according to plan, there shouldn't be more than one or two more chapters...and if things _don't _go according to plan...Well, we'll just have to see. Thanks to everyone who's been reviewing! I hope this didn't disappoint! Next chapter up as soon as I can get things together.

Later, Gators! Catch you all in the next chapter!


	6. Chapter Six

AN: Okay, it's not as long as the last chapter, and I know there are a terrible amount of mistakes, but I am sooo tired. It's past 3:30 in the morning, and I have to take my little sister to the zoo in less than six hours. I haven't been to the zoo in forever, so I'm really excited!!...And really tired. So I have to go. I promise I'll try and come back to it later. If there are any really, really bad mess-ups, just leave it in a comment, and I will be sure to take it into account.

Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing! I really appreciate the support and love! And, also, this is NOT the last chapter. There is still one more left (as far as I can tell), and even then, the saga is not really over. There is plenty of room for a part two!

Alright, enough talk. Enjoy this chapter!

_Chapter Six:_

"It took us a day to get here," Elliot explains, weaving through the crowds of people outside their complex. "We had to stop a lot, stabilize him before we could keep going. Doctor Wen has been working with him on and off, taking care of the worst and going from there." She slows down near a large army truck with a tarp tied tightly over it. "We've had to keep him sedated since we got him out. He's just...been in too much pain."

Perry follows blindly, stopping abruptly as she halts at the rear of the truck. The flap is pulled back, revealing several medical personnel working hurriedly on a prone figure in the center of the truck bed.

"Barbie?" the older doctor whispers, and Elliot turns back, stopping mid-climb into the truck.

"Perry?" It's the first time she's called him that, and he can't help the look of surprise he turns on her, really looking at her for once. She's grown so much. Not height-wise or anything. But there are wrinkles on what used to be fine skin, and premature gray strands are starting to peek through bright blond. Even her eyes, what used to be two shining orbs filled with anxiety and tears half the time, are dull and wise. She looks as if she hasn't shed a tear in years.

"It's him," she assures him, pulling him from his thoughts. "It's him, Perry. The execution was...Well, it wasn't fake, but...He's here. He's safe." She glances uncertainly into the truck, where Doctor Wen is looking haggard and frustrated. "And we could really use your help."

Perry swallows hard, taking a deep breath before nodding and taking the outstretched hands of the people in the truck.

0 o 0 o 0

Elliot frowns and furrows her eyebrows, beginning to shake her head. "It looks...It looks like JD."

Perry turns the VCR off, studying the few people crowded around the television. "Well, we have solid proof that it _isn't_ JD, so we need a new theory."

"Where's Dan?" Elliot looks around, finding solemn faces and averted gazes.

"Dan...left. A few days ago," Turk explains quietly.

Elliot's face blanches, and a hand goes to her mouth. "You don't think..."

"We do." Perry nods. "And he can't find out about this."

"Perry, he's going to find out sooner or later," Carla points out. "We can't keep this from him forever."

"And I'm not asking you to," the older doctor replies with uncharacteristic calmness. "I just...He can't know about this right now. He's recovering. He probably won't even be awake for—"

"Doctor Cox?" an anxious young woman walks into their meeting. "Doctor Dorian is awake."

0 o 0 o 0

The screams echo out across the compound. Several people tensely try to ignore it, talking above the noise or watching the television at nearly full-blast. Others watch curiously as several medical personnel run in and out of a curtained-off area. Everyone knows who the screams are coming from, and not one of them has heard anything so horrible. Suddenly, Perry and his entourage sprint by, forcing their way into the curtained room and whisking everyone else out.

0 o 0 o 0

"JD!" Perry yells, grasping the young man's flailing arms. "JD, it's me! It's Perry! You're safe! You're okay!"

"Let me go!" JD drags in wheezing breath after wheezing breath, his eyes wide but not seeing, his face pained but his strength not waining. "Let me go! I won't tell you! I won't!"

"Bambi!" Carla tries from JD's other side, helping Perry hold the young doctor's other arm. "You're okay! You're with friends!"

"No!" JD screams, sobbing as he realizes his struggles are in vain. "No! Let me go! Please, just...just..."

The young man slowly begins to settle, and Elliot removes the empty syringe from his thigh, capping it and tossing it in a nearby waste bin.

"Oh, Bambi," Carla sighs, rubbing his arm in sympathy.

"What the hell happened to you?" Perry whispers, his fingers stringing through JD's hair.

0 o 0 o 0

JD wakes to darkness.

"No," he moans, shaking his head. He can't go through this again. He wishes they'd be done with him already, make their damn example of him and let him die.

"JD?" a groggy voice says from his left. A body shifts beside him, and fingers stroke the side of his face. "Are you awake."

"Kill me," the young man whispers, tears welling in his eyes and falling in streaks. "Please...I just want to be done."

The comforting fingers on his face pull back, curling around his arm and shaking gently. "JD, you're not...you're not there anymore. You're safe. You're with me."

"I'm sorry," JD sobs, panting and choking on the words. He still hurts so much. The pain, it's everywhere. "I'm sorry about...Jeremy. I'm sorry...I couldn't help him. I'm so sorry."

A sharp intake of breath sounds, and then smooth, warm words are breathed into his ear. "Jeremy wasn't your fault."

"He was my responsibility, and I...I failed. I failed, I failed."

"There was nothing you could do."

"Perry...I need Perry. Where's Perry?" JD pleads, his fingers twitching with the need to touch his husband one last time. A warm hand takes his own, brings it to a stubbled cheek.

"I'm right here," Perry says. "I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere."

0 o 0 o 0

"He's sick," the older doctor explains to the small group standing around him. "It's the same thing Jordan had when we brought her here."

"But we took care of that," Turk points out. "It's treatable."

"Yes," Perry agrees exhaustedly, "but it's a whole new strain, meaning that people who were immune to the disease before _aren't _now. Which means a whole new vaccine and a whole new cure."

"It's busy work," Elliot says slowly, thinking the statement through before she says it. "They're trying to keep us occupied."

"They made a new virus to keep us busy?" Carla asks.

The blonde doctor nods. "If they keep us busy with this, we don't have time for anything else. Our relocation program will have to be completely rescheduled. We'll have to spend more time on making vaccines and cures for people."

"And not everyone will make it," Perry says angrily, "which will just give them more leverage to hold against us."

"We can't be everywhere at once," the nurse scoffs.

There is a silence before the Irishman speaks again. "We don't have to be everywhere." He looks towards JD's curtained room. "We have to be here. With him." He turns to the others, giving them a sharp look. "We have to keep him alive at all costs. He's what this country needs."

"Perry, he's...he's barely alive as it is," Carla says quietly.

"Then do your god damn job and keep him alive!" Perry shouts, rubbing a hand over his face when everyone jumps. "I'm sorry. I..." He shakes his head, watching his sleeping husband through a slit in the curtains. "I can't lose him. _We_ can't lose him. He's all we have left."

Elliot is the first to take a determined step forward. "I'll help prep him for an injection." Carla steps up beside her, giving her a nod and leading the way.

Turk starts towards JD's room. "I'm gonna check on his stitches."

Perry watches them leave, wanting nothing more than to get a good night's sleep with a well and optimistic JD. But his husband has been neither of those things for a very long time, and Perry doubts very much that he will be any time soon. He closes his eyes, reveling in the quiet before realizing what he has to do.

0 o 0 o 0

"Glad to see you're up and about."

Jordan looks up from the book in her lap, smirking as Perry walks into her hospital room. "Why's that? Need a babysitter to watch the kids while you and the man-toy sneak away?" Jordan knows she's struck a nerve when the man winces at the mention of JD.

"No, I just...I'm glad to see you're doing well. Jack and Jenny and Sammy have missed you. Izzy, too." Perry looks uncomfortable, and he hasn't moved an inch further into the room since he walked in.

Jordan gives one of her rare smiles, patting the bed invitingly. "What's on your mind, Per-Bear?" Perry hesitates only a moment longer before taking long strides into the room and seating himself beside his ex-wife. "How's DJ doing?"

"He could be better," Perry admits, and the worry starts to shine through his stoic mask.

"But he could be worse, right?" Jordan finishes for him, elbowing him playfully. "It's JD, Perry—the boy wonder who got us up and running. People like him don't just give out. He's a fighter. Saved my sorry ass."

"He begged them to kill him." The words aren't meant to be so abrupt, but they are, and Jordan's attitude changes almost immediately.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Perry swallows. "He was having a nightmare, a flashback, and he was saying things that...I just can't imagine JD saying."

Jordan's lips thin into grim lines. "It wasn't exactly the Hilton, Per," she explains. "I thought the same thing a few times while I was in there."

"I'm losing him, Jordan." The doctor looks up, his eyes red-rimmed and swimming with exhaustion. "He's slipping right out between my fingers, and the tighter I try to hold on to him, the faster he seems to go." A choked gasp makes him turn away. "I don't know what to do."

Jordan sighs, laying her head on the man's shoulder. "He loves you. Anyone can see that." She nudges his hand with her own. "You can't give up on him, Perry. He's got this huge responsibility that he never asked for."

"He shouldn't have stood up that day. He should have just kept quiet and not done a damn thing."

"And where do you think we'd be if he hadn't?" Jordan accuses, lifting her head and grabbing his chin. She forces him to look at her. "We'd be dead. Do you know how many people would give their lives for that kid? How many people already have? Don't do that. Don't sully the names of the people who have died for your husband. _Your husband_, Perry. And don't tell me that doesn't mean anything either."

"Of course it means something," Perry scoffs indignantly. "Don't lecture me, Jordan Godzilla Sullivan. I know a good thing when I have it."

"Then don't let this good thing get away from you," the woman commands. "You think you're losing him? _Do _something about it. _Get him back_. You need him. I need him. We all need him."

"I know." And he does. He's preached the same words, and he believes them with all his heart. JD is the one that will end this war—there is no question about it.

"Good," Jordan says with a satisfied nod. "Now get some sleep. You look like hell."

Perry chuckles, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

0 o 0 o 0

"Perry, quit treating me like a fucking kid and show me the tape already," JD seethes, his eyes narrowing as the older man flicks a thumb across his nose and crosses his arms. "And don't you _dare_ try that with me. It only works on Elliot."

Perry can't deny this. He also can't deny the fact that he's been stalling for the past three days. JD has been demanding footage of the execution since day one, and the older doctor has done everything in his power to keep him preoccupied, even going so far as to use Sammy as a decoy.

Everyone knows who's on that tape, and the more JD alternately demands the tape and his brother, the more Perry can see that he's starting to put things together.

"JD," he breathes desperately, shaking his head and swallowing, "I don't want you to see the tape."

JD's anger morphs into skeptical concern. "I have to see it." He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I know what you're thinking, and I know...I know it's a possibility." He frowns. "I'm not _that _naïve, Perry." The older man winces at the accusation. "But I need to see it for myself."

They stare at each other for a long moment before Perry turns and leaves, returning a minute later with the tape and three other people that JD is so happy to see, he almost bursts into tears.

"Hey, Bambi," Carla greets softly, Turk and Elliot following her to the bed and surrounding the young man with comfort and support.

"We're here for you, Vanilla Bear."

"We'll _always_ be here, JD."

JD's eyes begin to prickle, and he ducks his head shyly. "Thanks, guys," he says huskily.

A fake gagging noise comes from the end of the bed, and the four look to find Perry standing, tape in hand, with a disgusted look on his face.

"Alright, ladies, as touching as all this love-slop is, I'm gonna have to ruin the moment by saying we have some business to attend to."

Carla, Elliot, and Turk glare at the man, but JD just nods, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Okay," he says.

0 o 0 o 0

By the end of the video, JD's eyes are wide, and when Perry stops the tape, all attention turns to him.

"JD?" Elliot asks softly, the hand she has on his shoulder squeezing lightly. "Sweetie, are you alright?"

"Can you..." He clears his throat. "Can you rewind it?"

"Bambi," Carla says sadly, stroking his hair.

The young man pulls from the touch. "Perry, rewind it."

The older man frowns but reaches down to rewind the tape.

"Doctor Cox," Elliot huffs outrageously.

"Barbie, just be quiet and let him see it," Perry snaps.

"There!" JD straightens, suddenly, and reaches out, waving his hand wildly as if the action itself will do what he wants. Perry presses the play button with his thumb, cringing as the sound of a gunshot echoes from the speakers. "Again."

"JD, this isn't going to—" Turk tries to reason with his friend.

The gunshot sounds. "Again."

A grim look takes Perry's face as he rewinds it and lets it play again and again and again, JD staring pensively at the screen each time. He's about to put his foot down on the next "again" that comes from the young man's mouth, but this time, JD says, "Pause it!"

Perry does so, and the young man sits forward, squinting at the screen. He pays no attention as his breathing worsens, as the heart monitor begins to beep erratically, as his friends try to gently push him back against the pillows.

"JD?" Perry asks quietly, and all activity ceases as the young doctor takes in a sharp breath, his eyes widening. The Irishman quickly pushes Elliot aside, grasping his husband's shoulders and leaning into his line of vision. "Baby, what do you see?"

The three standing around them are taken aback. It's the first endearment that they have ever heard Perry use for their friend, the first time that the doctor has used anything but a girls' name in their presence. Perry doesn't seem to notice. JD's eyes slowly focus on the older man's face, taking in his wide, worried eyes, his pursed lips, his flaring nostrils.

"That's not Dan."

AN: Later, Gators! I will catch you in the next chapter! Goodnight! Yah!


	7. Chapter Seven

AN: So, here it is. The very last chapter. There was so much more I wanted to add to this, and there was just absolutely no way. I've been wracking my brain for days, trying to think of things to squeeze in. And I just can't. So, to me, it seems a bit rushed and unfinished. But I guess that's what the second part will be for. :) Enjoy

_Chapter Seven:_

"What do you mean that's not Dan?" Perry asks, the tone and the growl still there but his voice softer than usual. "Who else has that gangly girl figure of yours?"

JD sighs, closes his eyes, and breathes deeply. He's gotten so used to the pain that he winces out of habit, and Perry starts to pull away. The young man's eyes fly open, and he latches onto the other man as if his life depends on it.

"Shh," Perry says comfortingly, leaning in and brushing his lips against JD's forehead. The young man revels in the sensation, knowing the feeling won't last much longer. "It's okay. You're okay." He waits until JD seems to settle some before pulling back and staring him in the eyes. "JD, what do you know about this?"

JD's gaze flickers to the paused screen, and he swallows hard. "His name is Charles Hanns. Dan... found him."

"Who is he?" Elliot asks, looking back to the screen and grimacing at the likeness of this man to her friend.

JD's lips quiver. "He's my double." Four wide pairs of eyes center on him.

"You have a _double_?" Turk says incredulously (and with just a hint of jealousy).

JD moves away from Perry's warmth, sighing as he lies back against the pillows. "_Had_ a double," he corrects. "He wasn't my idea. Dan grabbed him one day, thinking he was me, and had the 'brilliant' plan to hire him." The young man's hands wring restlessly. "Everywhere I've been, he's been somewhere else, popping up and showing himself to give me false appearances."

"Why didn't we know about this?" Perry grinds out, trying to curb his anger and failing miserably.

JD shakes his head—he knew it wouldn't last long—and Perry leans in dangerously close. Hot breath ghosts across his face, and he winces. "Because Dan knew."

"Dan knew what?" Perry demands. His patience with the young man is wearing thin. Perforated lung or no perforated lung, the Irishman is going to get answers.

"Dan knew what they were planning." JD swallows, desperately wanting water and knowing it isn't the right time to ask for some. "He knew about the execution."

"How?"

JD hates that it's Perry who's interrogating him. But he hates worse that his friends are letting him, though he understands. If it were anyone else, JD could hold out. But Perry has always had a way to get the truth.

"He has a contact."

"A _contact_?" Perry snarls the word like it's a bad taste in his mouth.

"There's a woman," JD continues, startled as the older man pushes away and starts to pace.

"A _woman_," he spits. "Of course it's a woman. It's always a god damn woman."

"Hey!"

"Oh, he did _not_."

Elliot and Carla glare at the man indignantly.

Perry goes on ranting as if he hadn't heard them. "That gum-popping, gun-toting soldier-wannabe," he mutters. "Does he know how dangerous that could have been? How dangerous it still _is_?"

"I was careful, Coxie." The voice at the entrance of the curtained room is soft, calm, and the occupants turn to find a well-worn Dan wavering tiredly at the opening.

Perry starts towards him with a growl, but JD's weak, wheezing voice stops him. "Per," he breathes, pushing himself up with what little strength he has. "Please...don't." His arms give, and he falls back against the pillows with exhaustion, his breathing worsening into staccato-ed hiccups.

"Careful, Sheila," the older doctor says harshly, but his eyes give away his concern. "You'll rip your stitches." He turns, then, narrowing his eyes at the elder of the Dorian sons. "You—" he points "—with me." He brushes past Dan with a shoulder bump, and the other sighs, spinning on his heels and following the angry doctor.

0 o 0 o 0

"Listen, Coxie, I—" Dan isn't expecting the fist to his left cheekbone, but, understandably, he knows he should have. He staggers, taking a breath and then straightening to level with the other man again. He doesn't lift his arms or hands in defense. Nothing more comes, though, and he's almost disappointed. "Anything else?"

Perry glares at him. "I'd have a whole hell of a lot more for you if you weren't my brother-in-law."

Dan is surprised—partly because Perry has never so much as hinted to the fact that they are technically related, and partly because Perry is letting the fact that they are technically related get in the way of an ass-kicking. "Coxie, I'm touched."

"Don't be," the doctor growls. "You endangered the life of my husband and our children, not to mention our friends and the dozens of other people hunkered down with us in this hell hole."

"I can explain."

"I don't want excuses, Dan. I want you to understand." Perry's anger, suddenly, leaves in a whoosh of exhaustion. "You could have been killed. _We _could have been killed. Those bastards would have been led right to us." He groans tiredly and rubs at his face. "What in Bobbo's name were you thinking?"

Dan lowers his head. "I wasn't," he says quietly.

Perry's hands lower to his sides, balling into fists. "You're damn right you weren't. If anything had happened to JD or the kids..." He lets his sentence fall, not willing to think of the possible outcomes, of the consequences. He shudders and turns away. "So what are we going to do about this?"

"She didn't know anything. I only took information from her. I never gave any." Dan swallows. "But you're right. She would have betrayed us."

Perry turns back to him, taking in his appearance for the first time since his arrival. Dan's eyes are red-rimmed, his hair matted to his head in dark, tangled tufts. His lower lip is bleeding, and there's an angry ring of raised skin around his neck. His torn jacket is streaked with dark crimson.

"Jesus," the doctor breathes, taking a step towards him. "What the hell happened to you?"

Dan sniffs, clearing his throat and taking a rasped breath. "I told her I wasn't going to meet with her anymore, that I didn't trust her, that I didn't trust any of them." He coughs and sniffs again. "She tried to strangle me with something." He gingerly touches the raised flesh on his neck, wincing and pulling away quickly. "I almost blacked out, but..." His eyes go distant. "Someone saved me."

"Someone?"

"Someone who knows Johnny, who helped him escape." Dan looks into Perry's skeptical gaze. "He said that Elliot could vouch for him." His face pales. "And then he shot her, said she was a liability. She could tell her people about me and him, and things would only get worse."

"Who was this guy?" Perry asks curtly.

"Our new contact," Dan says with raised eyebrows. "General James Hollock."

0 o 0 o 0

Perry has a picture he keeps in his pocket. Always. His wedding day—his second one. He isn't quite sure why it's this particular picture he carries with him. There are plenty of others, thanks to Carla and Elliot. He and JD have an album-full to choose from. There's a picture where he and JD are smiling and laughing at the camera, arms looped around one another and holding tight. Another is of their "I do" kiss, Perry dipping the younger man just slightly and JD's arms slung around the Irishman's neck. And another still is of their first dance as a married couple—a silly, fast-paced waltz that JD had insisted on, even though he tripped up every other step.

But the photograph that Perry has carried with him since the day it was developed is one of just JD, standing in a corner by himself after an exhausting ceremony and an even more-exhausting reception. His head is tilted to one side, his gaze distant and his mouth drawn into a thin line. It's as if he is realizing that the fun and celebration of the day has only been a distraction of the pain and anguish just beyond the wall he leans against.

Their wedding had not been elaborate, something that had suited Perry just fine. The guest list was limited to friends and family only, and their honeymoon had been no more than an unspoiled wedding night. After everything they had been through, all that JD had shouldered, Perry thought he'd been successful in keeping JD's mind from wandering to his duties as _savior of the country_. But this picture—probably an accidental snapshot taken by one of the kids—proves this notion wrong, proves Perry's failure to keep his husband from feeling the worries of the world.

But it is also a reminder of what the older doctor is fighting for, what he needs to fix in order for Jonathon Michael Dorian-Cox to be just _JD_ again. And Perry will be damned if he doesn't see that day.

0 o 0 o 0

"Hey, little brother," Dan says softly, sitting on the edge of the young man's cot and running calloused fingers through his sibling's dark tufts of hair.

JD's eyelids slide up to half-mast, one corner of his mouth twitching as he takes in the bruise starting to form on his brother's cheekbone and draws in a painful breath. "You in trouble?"

Dan chuckles. "Coxie's not happy. But he'll get over it."

"S'okay," the younger Dorian breathes tiredly, his eyes closing slowly. "He's not too happy with me either."

"You kiddin'? He couldn't be mad at you if he tried."

JD attempts to laugh, but the gesture leads to a bout of coughing that nearly closes the young man's throat.

"I'm fine," he rasps when Dan looks like he wants to bolt to find someone. "I'm okay, Dan. Really." His brother studies him skeptically for a moment longer before settling at his side again.

"Scooch over," Dan says with a pat to JD's thigh. JD complies, and the older man carefully situates himself alongside him. A comfortable silence fills the small room, save for the beeps and blips of various monitors. JD revels in the sounds and sensations, feeling safe for the first time in a _long_ time. He's nearly lulled to sleep when Dan speaks again.

"You know we had to, right?" he asks softly.

"There's no excuse for letting a man die, Dan," JD replies, a frown twisting his mouth.

"He knew the risks."

"All except one."

"He was ready to die for you."

"You think he would have been if we told him _when _he was going to die for me?"

"That's not the point, little brother."

"Then what is, _big brother_?"

Dan shifts onto his side, staring down at the young man. "You know you're the one, don't you?"

JD rolls his eyes. "Dan, please don't make this a bad play off _The Matrix_."

"I'm serious," the older man says in almost a whisper. "I know you don't want to believe it—"

"God," JD wheeze-laughs hysterically, looking up at his brother with wide, blue eyes. "I want that more than anything. I want to be the one that ends this fucking war. I want to stand there and feel the sun on my face and know that there's no one out to get me. 'Cause I'm tired, Dan. I'm so tired...I don't know how much longer I'll last."

Dan's heart aches at the tone of his baby brother's voice. _He's giving up_, he thinks sadly. _Oh, JD..._

"I was ready," the young man whispers, his voice shaking with the confession. "I was going to let them kill me. I _wanted _them to."

"Why?" the other man asks desperately, a hand resting on JD's shoulder.

The young man smiles. "Because I know you," he states matter-of-fact. "And I know Perry and Turk and Carla and Elliot. I know you all well enough to know that even when I'm gone, you'll be fine."

"JD..." Dan draws in a trembling breath. "Why does this sound like 'goodbye'?"

JD's smile doesn't wane. "Times like these, it's never 'goodbye,' Dan." He closes his eyes and sighs. "It's only ever 'just-in-case.'"

0 o 0 o 0

_Two Months Later:_

JD takes a deep breath, holding it as he looks to the people surrounding him one-by-one. Turk, the best friend who has stood by his side longer than any of them. Carla, the mother-hen to his compulsive-injury nature and his constant conscience. Elliot, the blond girl-wonder who has miraculously kept JD's head on straight while sometimes losing her own. Jordan and the kids, the constant reminders in his life about what he is fighting for (and who he would have to fight _against_ if he didn't). Dan, the older brother that has more than made up for the torturous childhood he inflicted on the younger Dorian son and who will always be there to lend a gum-popping comment or two. And Perry, his soulmate, the one person on the planet who has seen the real Jonathon Michael Dorian and not run screaming.

JD smiles at these people and lets loose his pent-up breath in a whispy laugh.

"Somethin' funny there, Ginger?" Perry asks without the least bit of vehemence. In fact, the laugh is probably the best thing that any of them have heard in a very long time. It's a glimpse of the old JD, the carefree JD.

"I'm just glad you could all be here," the young man says, his smile growing wider and spreading throughout the small group.

Perry snorts, pulling the young man to him and kissing his forehead. "All right, sentimental Susie. You ready to do this?"

Before JD can answer, Doug walks into the room, giving a faint smile and a nod. "Ready to go when you are, JD."

JD nods, reluctantly leaving the warmth of Perry's hold and sitting on the stool in front of a small cam-corder. Doug takes his place behind the camera, holding a hand up and pointing at him as a little, red light brightens to life.

"Members of the resistance," he begins, quiet and firm, "and anyone else out there watching." He swallows the bundle of nerves at the back of his throat. "My name is Jonathon Michael Dorian-Cox, and I am here to tell you that I'm still alive"—he spreads his hands briefly—"still breathing." His eyes narrow slightly. "And I will not stop until I've seen this war through...But as much _faith_"—he winces at the word—"as you and my family have put in me, I know I can't do this alone."

He stop for a moment, looks down at his shaking hands and silently thanks Doug for the fact that they're not in the shot. He looks up, a pleading look taking his face. "I need help," he begs, his tone wavering slightly. "I need _your _help, as much of it as I can get, so I can be the person that everyone seems to think I am. With your help, I will have hope." He shares a quick look with Perry, and one corner of his mouth twitches upward. "And with your faith, I will be Jonathon Michael Dorian-Cox, and we _will_ get through this."

AN: I hope you enjoyed this. Writing these characters in a war!universe really made my job lots of fun. I just wish it was my only job...Stupid late hours at a stupid grocery store.


End file.
